#they meant to use for it so it was a mistake

[creamflix]

IF I WAS A BAD BITCH, I'D WANNA F★CK ME TOO! ( THANKSGIVING EDITION )  ၄၃ gojo satoru x female reader x (female?!) gojo satoru 

18+ content, minors and blank blogs do not interact. established relationship. threesome featuring m & f gojo. switch gojo(s), sub reader. bisexual reader. lots of crack. groping, lots of making out. voyeurism and cucking, fingering (f. receiving), oral (f. receiving), use of onahole, brat taming, mindbreak, overstimulation, pegging, anal sex, riding, praise, competitive sex, creampies, use of dildo, double penetration pussy riding (go lesbians!), fem gojo calls herself "mama" #needthat,

THANKSGIVING SPECIAL!!! are you saying your thanks? either way, make sure to give your duo a kiss - and maybe something more? i wrote female gojo with @owwllly's version in mind, so please show them your love xx

dedicated as always to my pookie daph aka @curtins , my fav bi icon @sugoroo & my lovely taglist. eternally grateful for you freaks, please enjoy. ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა

— general masterlist ☆ read on ao3 ☆ series masterlist

thanksgiving. 

a time to reflect, to share warmth, and — what was it again? 

oh yeah — to give thanks.

you and fem gojo are nestled on the couch, wrapped in a cozy blanket, the quiet hum of a holiday special playing in the background. it’s a rare moment of peace, with your boyfriend out handling “very important jujutsu business,” or so he claimed before dramatically declaring that he’d return as the hero of hearts. 

whatever that meant.

“y’know,” she begins, her voice soft for once, her head resting against yours. “i’ve been thinking about this whole ‘thankful’ thing.”

you glance at her, surprised by the uncharacteristic sincerity in her tone. “oh? and what are you thankful for?”

she turns, her wolfcut framing her striking features as she gazes at you with a small, genuine smile. “i’m thankful for… you.”

your heart clenches, a warm flush spreading across your cheeks. it’s rare to see her like this, stripped of her usual snark and bravado. “really?” you whisper, touched.

“yeah,” she says, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “for your kindness, your patience, and the way you…”

she pauses, and you hold your breath, waiting for her to finish.

“the way you let me absolutely wreck your pussy —”

“oh my god!” you groan, shoving her tits with an annoyed smack.

big mistake.

“ohhh,” she purrs, a sly grin spreading across her face as she presses her hands over the spot you just smacked. “do that again.”

“no.”

“please?”

“absolutely not.”

she’s leaning closer now, her grin downright devilish. “c’mon, babe. it’s thanksgiving. give me something to be thankful for.”

you bury your face in your hands, torn between exasperation and the urge to laugh. why, why, did you think she’d stay serious for more than five minutes?

it’s not like you planned to start fondling her tits. really, it’s not. 

but somehow, somewhere between her outrageous comments and your exasperated attempts to shut her up, your hands found their way there.

“emotional support,” you mutter, as if trying to convince yourself. your fingers press into her tits, and she smirks.

“oh, totally. very supportive,” she teases, biting her lip dramatically. “honestly, babe, i should start charging you for therapy.”

“therapy?” you scoff, giving her an annoyed squeeze — purely on principle, of course. “you’re the reason i need therapy.”

“aw, don’t be like that,” she says, giggling as she adjusts herself to make herself more accessible.

“i hate you,” you mutter, but the warmth bubbling in your chest betrays your words.

“no, you don’t.”

“okay, fine. i don’t.”

she grins like she just won a medal. “thought so.”

somehow, between the bickering and teasing, the two of you dissolve into giggles, your forehead pressing against hers as you share that rare, quiet moment of understanding.

“you know,” you say softly, still laughing a little, “i actually really like you.”

her breath catches for a second before she beams at you, her usual cockiness replaced by something softer. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you admit, cheeks flushing. “like, a lot. but don’t let it go to your head.”

“too late,” she teases, leaning in to nuzzle her nose against yours. “you’re not so bad yourself, baby.”

and there you are, tangled up in each other, giggling like a pair of teens in love for the first time, your hands still very much not moving from their supportive position. ah, girlhood.

⋆˙⟡ —

"oh my god," she giggles against your lips, breaking the kiss for a breath as her nose brushes yours. "you’re, like, so soft. i mean, i knew you were, but wow."

"shut up," you mutter, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrays you.

"no, seriously," she presses, her voice lilting like a girl talking about her latest crush. "you’re, like, perfect. your skin, your lips — ugh. i could eat you up."

you roll your eyes, but the way her hands slide to your waist and pull you closer has your breath hitching. "is this how you get people to fall for you? flattery and... and..."

"and this?" she finishes for you, leaning in to nip your bottom lip before slipping her tongue into your mouth.

the kiss is messy, all tongue and heat, but there’s something dizzyingly intoxicating about it. her chest presses against yours, her muscles firm under your palms in a way that’s so different from satoru but just as addicting. your hands wander — her shoulders, her back, down to her waist — feeling every curve and sharp line of her body.

"you’re drooling," she teases, her lips pulling into a smirk as she pulls back just enough to speak, her breath fanning over your kiss-swollen mouth.

"shut up," you mumble again, though your voice is weaker this time, your fingers tangling in her wolfcut as you pull her back in.

she chuckles into the kiss, her hands sliding lower, tracing circles on your hips. "this is so high school," she whispers against your lips, making you laugh despite the fire pooling low in your stomach.

"oh, totally," you quip back, your voice breathy as she kisses down your jaw, her tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin.

her lips pause at the curve of your neck, her teeth scraping ever so slightly. "you’re, like, my first kiss," she says in a mock-innocent tone, though the way her hands slide up your sides betrays her act.

"you’re such an idiot," you laugh, tangling your fingers tighter in her hair.

but any retort you might have had is swallowed by her mouth on yours again, hungrier this time, her arms wrapping around you in a way that makes you feel like you might melt right into her.

it really did feel like something ripped out of a hormone-fueled teenage fantasy — the kind where you’d lie awake in bed, giggling to yourself and imagining what it'd feel like to be on someone's lap, their hands wandering with just enough teasing to make you squirm. 

only this time, it wasn't a daydream, and fem gojo’s giggles were very real.

her fingers skimmed your sides, occasionally dipping just low enough to make your breath hitch, her wolfcut brushing against your cheek as she buried her face in your neck. "you’re so cute when you try to act all tough, you know that?" she teased, nipping at the skin just below your jaw.

"oh, please," you shot back, though the way your hips shifted ever so slightly against hers told a different story. "i’m not trying anything."

"oh, no?" she asked, her tone dripping with faux innocence, her hands slipping under the hem of your shirt to rest against your bare skin.

"not at all," you countered, and then — because two can play at this game — you rolled your hips against her, slow and deliberate.

her breath caught, her giggles cutting off mid-sound. she pulled back to look at you, bright blue eyes wide with surprise, though her grin quickly returned, sharper than before. "oh, you’re bad."

"just a girl in a world," you murmured with a shrug, though the heat rushing to your cheeks betrayed your attempt at nonchalance.

"oh, this is happening," she declared, her hands gripping your thighs as she shifted beneath you, her strength evident in the way she lifted you just enough to press you down harder against her lap. "but don’t think for a second you’re getting away with this —"

the sound of the door slamming open cut her off, and both of you froze like guilty teenagers caught in the act.

there stood gojo satoru — your satoru — his hair sticking up in all directions like he’d just rolled down a hill, his glasses askew on his nose, and his uniform rumpled in a way that screamed, rough day.

his gaze darted between the two of you — your disheveled state on fem gojo’s lap, her hands very clearly under your shirt — and his mouth dropped open in disbelief. 

"what the hell is going on here?"

"uh, hey, babe," you started, voice weak as you tried to slide off fem gojo’s lap, only for her to tighten her grip on you with a smug grin.

"oh, don’t mind us," she drawled, looking far too pleased with herself as she leaned back, her hands finally moving to rest innocently on your waist. "just bonding."

"bonding my ass!" he snapped, stomping further into the room. "do you have any idea what kind of day i’ve had? and this — this is what i walk in on?"

"jealous much?" fem gojo shot back, her grin widening as she arched an eyebrow at him.

"jealous? jealous? i —" he sputtered, gesturing wildly. "you — my girlfriend — you — get off her!"

"aw, but we’re just getting started," fem gojo cooed, her fingers ghosting over your waist in a way that made your breath hitch.

"i’m gonna lose my mind," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face as he slumped against the doorframe.

for all her teasing and smug little quips, fem gojo made room on the couch as your boyfriend flopped down with all the grace of a tired golden retriever. he groaned dramatically, draping an arm over his face. 

"thanksgiving, of all days! and nanamin — don’t even get me started. one more complaint about efficiency, and i swear he’s gonna implode. poof. bye-bye nanamin."

you and fem gojo exchanged a glance over his head, her lips twitching with the effort to suppress a laugh. you, however, mustered up the best sympathetic nod you could manage. 

"sounds rough, babe," you offered, patting his knee.

"rough?" he huffed, shifting just enough to peer at you with his usual dramatic flair. "you don’t even know. i had to chase some cursed spirit halfway across town while nanami grumbled about how it was cutting into his cooking time. his cooking time! do i look like i care about how tender his turkey is supposed to be?"

"he’s got a point, though," fem gojo interjected, the grin she’d been holding back finally breaking free. "dry turkey’s a tragedy."

your boyfriend shot her a glare, though it lacked any real heat. "don’t take his side. you’re supposed to be me, remember? support your counterpart."

"nah, i’m gonna side with the one who knows how to cook," she retorted, nudging you with her elbow.

you snorted, biting back a laugh as you tried to keep your hands to yourself. which was harder than it should’ve been, considering fem gojo’s arm was slung casually around your shoulders, her fingers occasionally brushing against your skin in a way that made your stomach flutter.

gojo groaned again, throwing his head back against the couch. "you two are impossible."

"you don’t mind," you teased, your hand brushing his as you squeezed it gently.

"yeah, yeah," he muttered, though the faint smile tugging at his lips gave him away. "just keep your hands off each other while i’m here, alright? i’m not emotionally stable enough for this today."

"no promises," fem gojo quipped, earning herself another glare.

gojo turned to his counterpart with an air of uncharacteristic seriousness, the weight of his gaze enough to make even fem gojo pause mid-tease. "you know," he began, his tone grave, "this thanksgiving, I’d like to give thanks to you."

fem gojo arched a snowy brow, clearly skeptical. "me? are you sure? 'cause last time you gave me ‘thanks,’ it involved that dumb fight over who gets the last mochi."

"no, no, this is different," he said, his voice steady, as though he were about to deliver the most heartfelt speech of his life. "i’m thankful for your understanding... your cooperation… and most importantly —"

he suddenly straightened, his glasses slipping just slightly down the bridge of his nose. you didn’t like where this was going.

" — for letting me borrow her."

before you could even process what was happening, his arms shot out, and you were unceremoniously thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"toru, what the fu —"

"don’t worry! she’ll be back later!" he called over his shoulder, already bolting toward the bedroom at top speed.

"you’re welcome!" fem gojo shouted sarcastically from the couch, though her expression quickly soured as the door slammed shut behind you two.

inside, your boyfriend wasted no time, setting you against the door with a triumphant grin. 

"finally. do you know how hard it was to sit there, listening to you two flirt, without doing anything? i swear, that was torture."

"toru, you’re being —"

your sentence was cut short by the sound of fem gojo banging on the door like an unruly child. "hey! this isn’t fair! sharing is caring, you selfish bastard!"

"shut up!" gojo yelled back, clearly unfazed, as he leaned down to cage you beneath him.

the pounding on the door only grew louder. "i let you borrow her, satoru! don’t make me come in there!"

"go ahead and try!" he shouted, his focus zeroing back on you as a mischievous glint danced in his eyes. "she’s mine right now."

"both of you are insane," you muttered, burying your face in your hands as gojo chuckled, pressing a teasing kiss to your neck.

outside, the banging continued, punctuated by fem gojo’s increasingly dramatic threats. "i’m serious! open this door, or god so help me —"

"she’s not getting in," your boyfriend reassured you with a wink, leaning in so close that his breath brushed against your lips. "it’s just you and me, babe."

"for now," you muttered, shooting a wary glance at the door.

somehow, you knew this wasn’t over.

⋆˙⟡ —

fem gojo had always been an advocate for patience — something you had painstakingly taught her. waiting in line for mochi, waiting for a green light to cross the road, waiting for you to finish your work before annoying the hell out of you — it was all part of the lesson. 

but when it came to you? patience flew straight out the window.

"are you serious right now?!" her voice carried through the door, muffled by the thick wood but loud enough to be heard.

inside the room, your boyfriend’s lips curved into a wicked grin. “oh, she’s getting cranky,” he muttered, his breath ghosting over your ear. “let’s give her something to really whine about.”

you barely had time to protest — if you even wanted to — before gojo spun you around, pressing you firmly against the door. your cheek met the cool wood, and his hands were already tugging at your clothes with impatience, the sound of fabric shifting making your pulse spike.

“toru, she’s right there,” you hissed, but your words were quickly muffled by his lips trailing hot kisses down the back of your neck.

“yeah, that’s the point, babe,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mischief. his hands slid over your hips, steadying you as his own body pressed against yours. “don’t you wanna make her jealous?”

on the other side, fem gojo’s foot thumped against the floor in a tantrum-like rhythm. “i can hear you, y’know! i’m not deaf!”

“good,” your boyfriend shot back, raising his voice just enough to be heard. “i hope you’re enjoying the show.”

you whimpered as his fingers slid under the waistband of your pants, and he chuckled darkly, leaning in so his lips brushed against your ear. “you hear that, baby? she’s losing it out there.”

“you’re insane,” you managed, though your words came out breathier than intended, and gojo’s answering laugh sent shivers down your spine.

outside, fem gojo groaned in frustration, pacing. “i swear to god, satoru, open this door or i’m breaking it down!”

“and interrupt us? that’d be rude,” your boyfriend called back, his hands now sliding over your bare skin, making your knees weak. “just wait your turn.”

“wait my turn?!” fem gojo’s indignant screech was almost drowned out by your involuntary moan as gojo’s lips found that sweet spot on your neck.

“oh, baby,” he cooed against your skin, clearly enjoying your reaction. “don’t hold back. let her hear how good I make you feel.”

his words had you flushing from head to toe, but it was hard to argue when his hands and mouth were working in tandem to pull every noise out of you.

outside, fem gojo let out a dramatic groan. “you two are the worst! i hope you know that!”

inside, your boyfriend just laughed, the sound low and utterly smug as he adjusted your position, making sure every sound you made carried through the door.

“guess we’re putting your vocal cords to the test today,” he teased, his tone promising no mercy.

and from the way his hands and lips continued their relentless assault, you had no doubt he meant it.

⋆˙⟡ —

fem gojo slumped against the wall outside the door, arms crossed over her chest as she scowled in the general direction of the muffled chaos.

“i cannot believe i’m this annoying,” she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes at yet another high-pitched whimper from you, followed by a muffled chuckle from your boyfriend. “uggghhhh. this is unbearable.”

she wanted to stay annoyed, wanted to stomp off in indignation, but every time a particularly filthy noise escaped the room, her ears perked up, curiosity overriding her frustration.

“seriously? are you sobbing?” she whispered under her breath, her own cheeks heating up. “what the hell is he doing in there, and why isn’t it my turn?”

she leaned her head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling, trying to tune it out — but with you crying out so desperately, each sound more intoxicating than the last, it was impossible to ignore the heat pooling in her stomach.

“i hate this,” she grumbled, though the way her hand started to slip under the waistband of her panties said otherwise. “i really hate this.”

inside the room, gojo was grinning like a cat that caught the canary, his fingers working expertly as he leaned down to murmur in your ear. “you’re so loud, babe. think she’s out there listening? i bet she is. you’re driving her crazy.”

“s-satoru,” you choked out, your voice a broken whimper, tears streaking your flushed cheeks as he doubled down, drawing yet another broken sob from you.

outside, fem gojo’s jaw dropped as she heard you cry out again. she dragged a hand down her face, groaning in frustration. “this is torture. actual torture. and I’m supposed to be the sadist.”

her free hand, however, betrayed her as it dipped further, her breath hitching as she let herself get swept up in the symphony of sounds coming from the other side of the door.

“damn it,” she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut. “i really am a perv.”

inside, gojo glanced at the door with a smirk, clearly knowing exactly what was happening on the other side. he leaned down to kiss the corner of your mouth, his fingers not slowing for a second.

“you think she’s out there losing her mind?” he teased, nipping at your jaw. “bet she can’t help herself right now. you’re just that irresistible, baby.”

“satoru, please,” you sobbed, your voice cracked and wrecked as your body trembled against his.

outside, fem gojo let out an exasperated groan, her head thunking against the wall. “patience is a virtue, patience is a virtue,” she chanted under her breath, even as her own breathing grew uneven.

but as yet another filthy moan escaped you, her resolve shattered. 

“fuck it,” she muttered, her hands moving decisively.

because hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do — even if it means being the world’s most shameless audio voyeur.

fem gojo bit down hard on her lip, eyes screwed shut as she tried to keep herself from whining too loudly. her other hand worked feverishly to rub her clit, her breath hitching every time she heard you sob or moan.

she hated this. hated how much power the two of you had over her right now, and even more, hated how much she loved it.

but then, as if to make it worse, her twin’s voice cut through the door, playful and teasing as always. “oh, you’re liking this, aren’t you? so messy for me, baby.”

“damn it, satoru,” she hissed under her breath, her hips stuttering against her own hand. she had no idea if he knew she was out here actively losing her mind, but the way his voice dropped an octave, low and sultry, made her suspect he might.

“spread her legs more,” she barked suddenly, her voice muffled but sharp enough to carry through the door. “don’t just tease her, for fuck’s sake. she likes it when you —”

her own breath caught in her throat as she accidentally let out a tiny whimper. she slapped her hand over her mouth, her cheeks burning in humiliation.

inside, gojo paused for half a second, a smug grin spreading across his face. “ohhh, i hear you out there, loud and clear,” he called back, his voice sing-song.

“shut up and do it!” she snapped, mortified but far too invested to stop now.

he chuckled, clearly enjoying himself far too much, before leaning in to murmur against your neck, his tone dripping with amusement. “hear that, babe? she’s giving orders now. should i listen to her?”

“s-satoru,” you choked out, barely coherent, your head lolling back as he continued his merciless assault on your senses.

“yes, jerkface,” his female counterpart spat from outside the door, her voice cracking slightly. “you should. unless you want me to —”

her own sentence broke off into a breathless moan, and she smacked the back of her head against the wall, cursing herself.

inside, gojo laughed outright, clearly having the time of his life. “oh, you’re really losing it out there, huh?”

“don’t make me break down this damn door,” she growled, though her voice lacked any real bite, considering she was actively falling apart on the other side.

“you’d probably trip over your own pants if you tried,” gojo shot back, his grin audible in his voice.

“god, i hate you so much,” she muttered, though her fingers quickened as yet another of your sobs reached her ears, her body arching against the wall.

this was either going to be the quickest orgasm of her life, or the most torturous marathon she’d ever endured. either way, she wasn’t stopping until she finished — or until the door opened. 

preferably both.

⋆˙⟡ —

the loud crack of fem gojo’s boot against the door was enough to send your already frazzled nerves into overdrive. you barely had time to register the sound before the door flew open, a gust of air rushing in as she burst into the room, panting and disheveled, her cheeks flushed, and her shirt wrinkled beyond repair.

you yelped, curling closer to your boyfriend, who, to his credit, didn’t even flinch. instead, gojo just sighed, his face plastered with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “really, her breaking down the door? so predictable,” he drawled, his tone dripping with mock disappointment.

“you think i was gonna wait any longer, asshole?” fem gojo snapped, brushing her wolfcut out of her eyes as she glared at him. her voice still carried a hint of breathlessness, and she was clearly still coming down from her own orgasm.

you, on the other hand, were very much still recovering from whatever absolute hell (or heaven, let’s be real) you’d just been through. your voice cracked as you managed to wheeze, “couldn’t you have just waited like two seconds?”

“waited?” fem gojo scoffed, stepping over the splintered remains of the door like a feral, wild-eyed animal. “do you know how hard it is to hear that through a door and not go absolutely insane?!”

“sounds like a ‘you’ problem,” gojo quipped, pulling you closer to him as if to shield you from his rampaging twin.

“you’re insufferable,” she growled, stalking over to the bed. “both of you.”

“yeah, yeah,” he waved her off lazily, but his smirk didn’t falter for even a second. “you’re welcome to join us, but if you break the bed next, i’m billing you for it.”

her lips twitched as if she were about to fire back with another snarky remark, but instead, her gaze landed on you, still trembling and flushed from everything that had just transpired. her expression softened, only slightly, but it was enough to make your heart stutter in your chest.

“you okay?” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.

you opened your mouth to respond, but gojo cut in with a grin, “oh, she’s more than okay. aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“satoru,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands as both of them laughed, their identical voices melding together in a way that only made you want to sink further into the mattress.

“okay, fun’s over,” fem gojo declared, climbing onto the bed with a glint in her eye that made your stomach flip. “now move over, you big oaf. i’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

gojo sighed dramatically but shifted just enough to let her slide in next to you, her warmth immediately engulfing you as she wrapped an arm around your waist.

“great,” you muttered, your voice muffled against the pillows as both of them sandwiched you between them. “now i’ve got two of you to deal with.”

“lucky you,” fem gojo teased, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck as gojo’s fingers trailed lazily up your thigh.

“girlhood’s a bitch,” you mumbled, already bracing yourself for whatever chaos was about to unfold next.

⋆˙⟡ —

fem gojo’s face was the epitome of smug satisfaction as she toyed with gojo’s trademark eye mask, her fingers deftly looping it into an impromptu restraint around his wrists. "look who’s sitting out now,” she quipped, her grin wide enough to rival the crescent moon outside the busted door.

gojo tugged at the fabric half-heartedly, an incredulous laugh bubbling out of him. "seriously? me? tied up like this? you’re just mad you missed out.”

“oh, you think this is about missing out?” fem gojo snapped, crawling toward you with a predator's grace. “this is about justice, dumbass. justice.”

“you don’t even know the meaning of the word,” he fired back, rolling his eyes — well, he tried to. hard to make the expression work with a blindfold tied around your hands.

you, meanwhile, were caught in the crossfire of their ridiculousness, though a not-so-small part of you was trembling with anticipation. the way fem gojo’s fingers were grazing your waist, her nails scraping lightly against your skin, was enough to send a fresh wave of heat pooling in your gut.

"don’t worry, sweetheart,” she cooed, her tone deceptively soft as she leaned in to nuzzle your neck. “this isn’t about you. it’s about making him suffer. you, on the other hand? you’re about to have the time of your life.”

“what else is new?” gojo drawled, shifting against the headboard with an exaggerated pout. “i’m always the one who suffers.”

“boohoo, cry about it,” fem gojo shot back before pressing her lips to yours, her kiss firm and possessive.

you melted into her touch, your body already aching with anticipation as her hands roamed freely, her confidence unmatched. the muffled sound of gojo grumbling something under his breath only added fuel to her fire.

“don’t worry, lover boy,” she said sweetly, turning to flash him a devilish grin. “i’ll make sure you hear every little sound she makes. you deserve it for locking me out.”

gojo, for all his bravado and his self-proclaimed title of the strongest, looked utterly pitiful tied up against the headboard. his pants were visibly strained, the fabric damp in spots from the sheer torment of being forced to sit out while you and fem gojo put on a show that would put the raunchiest romance novels to shame.

“oh, what’s the matter, satoru?” fem gojo teased, pausing her relentless worship of your body to glance over her shoulder at him, her lips glistening in a way that made you shiver. “you’re awfully quiet for someone who loves to run their mouth.”

gojo groaned, his head falling back dramatically as his fingers twitched against the silk of his own blindfold. “this is cruel and unusual punishment,” he whined. “i’m a man! i have needs!”

“needs?” you managed to choke out between gasps, your voice breathy and dripping with faux innocence as fem gojo’s tongue worked you into a frenzy. “like what? watching? or maybe just being a good boy and waiting your turn?”

“god, you’re both evil,” he muttered, his hips bucking helplessly against nothing.

“evil?” fem gojo repeated with a laugh, her fingers tightening on your thighs as she angled herself for better access. “sweetheart, you don’t even know what evil is. yet.”

her words sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through you, and you couldn’t resist the urge to lean into her touch, your nails digging into her toned shoulders. you moaned louder this time, purposefully exaggerated, knowing damn well what it would do to your poor, restrained boyfriend.

“oh, fuccckk,” he hissed, his head snapping up as he strained against his makeshift bonds. “you’re doing this on purpose!”

“obviously,” you and fem gojo said in unison, the synchronization only making him groan louder.

“she’s so smart, isn’t she?” fem gojo murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your hip before sliding her tongue up your thigh. “my smart, pretty little thing.”

“mine,” gojo snapped, his voice dipping lower in frustration. “don’t forget that.”

“sounds like someone’s jealous,” you teased, casting him a mischievous smile that only made him squirm harder.

“jealous doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he muttered, his tone dark with frustration and arousal. “just wait. when it’s my turn, she won’t be able to walk for days.”

“promises, promises,” fem gojo said, rolling her eyes as she slid her fingers between your thighs. “but for now? she’s mine.”

“fuck,” gojo muttered again, his voice cracking slightly as he shifted again, clearly trying — and failing — to find any kind of relief. “you’re both killing me here.”

“good,” fem gojo quipped, her grin wicked as she leaned back in. “die mad about it.”

gojo looked like a man on the edge of ruin, his composure unraveling faster than his best-laid plans ever did. his head snapped between the two of you, his wide, pleading eyes following every obscene motion fem gojo made.

“okay, okay, listen,” he started, his voice pitching slightly as fem gojo tilted her head and spat on your pussy again, the slick sound almost louder than your breathy whimpers. “we can come to some kind of agreement, right? like, uh... a time share or something?”

fem gojo didn’t even bother looking up, too busy lapping at you like her life depended on it. your head lolled back, fingers trembling as they threaded through her wolfcut, tugging sharply enough to make her groan against you.

“are you seriously ignoring me?” gojo’s voice cracked, his hands jerking futilely against the silk blindfold binding his wrists. “i’m right here! i’m dying! dying, do you hear me?”

“not my problem, satoru,” fem gojo said against your skin, her words muffled but dripping with amusement. she licked a long stripe up your thigh before glancing at him with a smug smile. “besides, isn’t this your favorite thing? watching?”

“not when i’m left out like some damn extra,” he snapped, his tone bordering on petulant.

“sounds like a you problem,” she teased, her hands sliding up your trembling thighs to grip your hips. “why don’t you just sit there and, oh, i don’t know... reflect on your life choices?”

“reflect?” gojo repeated incredulously, his voice pitching higher as he watched her spit on you again, your body jolting at the sensation. “are you kidding me right now?”

“do i look like i’m kidding?” she quipped, her grin wicked as she dipped her head again, pulling a broken sob from your lips.

gojo groaned, his head thudding against the headboard in frustration. “babe,” he tried, his voice softening as he addressed you. “sweetheart, angel, just tell her to untie me. please.”

you barely registered his words, too far gone, babbling incoherent nonsense as your body writhed under fem gojo’s relentless attention.

“awwww,” fem gojo cooed, her tone mockingly sweet as she nipped at your thigh. “looks like she’s a little busy right now, satoru. maybe later.”

“later?” gojo practically shrieked, his hips jerking against nothing as he tugged uselessly at his bindings. “you’re killing me! you’re both killing me!”

“good,” fem gojo said with a smirk, her tongue sliding back to your pussy as your trembling hands tugged harder at her hair. “cope.”

⋆˙⟡ —

the juxtaposition of it all was almost too much to handle. 

you, still trembling and barely coherent after your orgasm, were being pulled into a firm handshake by fem gojo, her wolfish grin only slightly dampened by the disheveled state of her hair.

“good teamwork out there, champ,” she said, nodding at you like you’d just scored the winning goal in a soccer match, not just survived her borderline predatory focus.

meanwhile, satoru — sweet, dramatic, absolutely unhinged satoru — was in the corner, wringing his bound hands as best as he could against his knees and glaring daggers. his lower lip trembled with indignation, and his wild, slightly tear-glazed eyes were a comedic blend of frustration and despair.

“you absolute villain!” he screeched, his voice cracking as he gestured with his shoulders toward his ruined pants. “my tailored, imported, custom-made trousers! do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”

“relax,” fem gojo drawled, finally leaning back against the pillows like a cat after a long nap. “your cum is just another layer of fabric softener at this point.”

“fabric softener?” gojo gasped like he’d been personally slapped by fate itself. “you — you wrench! you witch! unhand me this instant, you fiend, and face me like a man — or woman — or, or whatever!”

fem gojo raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement as she slowly extended her arm toward him, flipping him off with deliberate precision.

“is this facing you like a woman, sweetheart?” she teased, snickering when his expression morphed into one of utter offense.

for all his flamboyant theatrics, gojo was undeniably unraveling at the seams. the man who stood undefeated as the strongest sorcerer now looked like a petulant child being denied dessert at dinner, his icy blue eyes darting between you and fem gojo with desperation simmering just beneath the surface.

"i'm right here," he whined, voice cracking on the last syllable. "hello? strongest sorcerer in the room? shouldn’t i get a little more respect — or attention, maybe?”

"did you hear something?" fem gojo mused, her voice dripping with mock curiosity as she tilted her head.

"nothing important," you replied, trying to hide your grin as you leaned into her shoulder.

gojo groaned, tugging fruitlessly against his bindings as he pouted at the two of you. "seriously? you're both evil! i’m literally about to combust over here, and you’re talking like i don’t even exist!”

his dramatic plea was met with a snicker from fem gojo, who lazily turned her gaze toward him. "oh, poor baby. are you finally learning what it's like to feel left out?"

“left out?” he nearly shrieked. “i’m suffering! do you know how long it’s been since i —”

"shut up already," fem gojo cut him off, her smirk sharp as she slid off the bed and crouched in front of him. gojo froze, his breath hitching as she reached for his waistband.

“wait — what are you —”

with a quick tug, fem gojo yanked his pants down, utterly ignoring his indignant sputtering about the sanctity of custom-made trousers.

"oh, quit whining," she drawled, digging into a nearby drawer with a mischievous glint in her eye. "you should be thanking your girlfriend for being so considerate."

“considerate?” he echoed, his confusion melting into mortification as she pulled out an onahole.

his face turned a vivid shade of red, his earlier bravado crumbling like a house of cards. “wait, wait, wait — i’m not thanking anyone for this —”

"you will," she quipped, already lubing up the toy with a casualness that made his head spin.

"oh my god," he muttered, his hands twitching in their bindings as his gaze darted to you. "baby, you're gonna let her do this to me?”

you tilted your head, feigning innocence. “what’s wrong, ‘toru? i thought you said you were suffering.”

before he could protest further, fem gojo slid the toy down his dick, her free hand pressing against his thigh to keep him steady. his breath hitched, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as his head tipped back against the wall.

"oh, he’s already squirming," she teased, her tone laced with mockery. "guess he wasn’t lying about being pent up."

“shut — shut up,” he stammered, his voice wavering as she began to move the toy with deliberate precision, her grip firm but unhurried.

you couldn’t help but giggle as gojo let out a strangled moan, his earlier indignation dissolving into a series of helpless whimpers.

“poor thing,” you cooed, reaching out to brush his bangs from his forehead. “guess even the strongest needs a little help sometimes.”

gojo’s cheeks flushed even darker, his gaze flickering between you and fem gojo as if he couldn’t decide whether to curse you both or beg for mercy.

"just... don't stop," he finally muttered, his voice cracking as his hips bucked against the toy.

"wasn't planning on it," fem gojo replied, her grin wicked as she picked up the pace.

for all his protests, gojo was utterly at their mercy

and, judging by the look in fem gojo's eyes, she was nowhere near done making him squirm.

⋆˙⟡ —

it really was something, wasn’t it? girlhood in all its beautiful glory. here you were, lounging back as fem gojo sat cross-legged beside you, casually fiddling with her nails and adjusting her wolfcut while gojo — your boyfriend, the strongest sorcerer alive — was reduced to a moaning mess on the floor.

“honestly, i don’t even know how you deal with him on a daily basis,” fem gojo mused, inspecting a chipped nail like she wasn’t the one who had just turned his world upside down.

“patience,” you replied with a smirk, gripping the onahole a little tighter as gojo let out a strangled groan.

“i’m right herree,” he whined, though his voice cracked halfway through, his chest heaving as you twisted the toy just so.

“we know,” you shot back, not sparing him a glance as your pace quickened. “you’re loud enough to remind us.”

“so ungrateful,” fem gojo teased, leaning back on her hands and watching him through half-lidded eyes. “you’d think he’d be a little more appreciative, considering what he’s getting right now.”

gojo’s head lolled back, his cheeks flushed a deep red as his hips bucked uselessly against the toy. “i am appreciative,” he panted, his voice barely above a whimper. “just — please —”

“please, what?” you interrupted, your tone sharp enough to make him flinch. “is that how you ask nicely, ‘toru?”

his lips parted, but no coherent words came out, just a series of broken, needy sounds that filled the room alongside the obscene squelch of the onahole.

“that’s what i thought,” you said, your voice dripping with mock pity. “maybe if you behaved better, you’d get to feel something real.”

fem gojo snickered, ruffling her wolfcut as she leaned closer to you. “god, you’re good at this. he’s lucky he has you, y’know.”

“oh, i know,” you replied with a grin, sparing her a quick glance before focusing back on your boyfriend.

gojo whimpered, his head jerking forward as his eyes locked onto yours. “baby, please, i’ll — i’ll be good, i promise, just —”

“you’ll be good?” you repeated, arching a brow. “after you’ve been nothing but a brat this whole time?”

his chest heaved as he struggled to form a response, his nipples perked and glistening with sweat as his entire body trembled beneath your control.

“god, look at him,” fem gojo drawled, nudging your shoulder. “you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger. it’s almost pathetic.”

“almost?” you quipped, smirking as gojo let out another desperate moan.

“okay, fine, entirely pathetic,” she conceded with a laugh.

gojo whimpered again, his head dropping forward as his hips bucked one last time. “please,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he teetered on the edge.

you sighed, pretending to mull it over as you slowed the pace of the toy. “hmm, i don’t know… do you think he’s earned it yet?”

fem gojo hummed thoughtfully, tapping her chin like she was considering a complex problem. “eh, let him finish. i wanna see how much of a mess he makes.”

and oh, did he ever.

the moment gojo came, it was like the entire world tilted on its axis. his body jerked violently, muscles spasming uncontrollably as the aftermath of his orgasm hit him like a freight train. his head lolled back against the headboard, silver hair clinging to his sweat-slicked forehead, and his chest heaved with each ragged breath he took.

the onahole in your hand was overflowing, thick and sticky, with a puddle forming beneath it on the sheets. you tried to suppress the shiver that ran down your spine as you stared at the mess he’d made, but it was impossible not to be affected.

“damn,” fem gojo drawled from the side, her lips curling into a smirk as she leaned closer to take a better look. “didn’t know he had that much in him. maybe i should’ve gone easier on him earlier.”

you shot her a glare, though it lacked any real bite. “yeah, thanks for that,” you muttered, your own arousal now at an unbearable high as you let the ruined toy fall to the side.

gojo’s glazed-over eyes finally fluttered open, his cerulean irises locking onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak. despite how wrecked he looked, a lazy grin spread across his flushed face.

“baby,” he rasped, his voice rough yet laced with warmth. “you’re so good to me.”

the tenderness in his words sent a jolt straight to your core, and before you could second-guess yourself, you were undoing the bindings around his wrists. the moment his hands were free, they shot up to grab your hips, pulling you down onto his lap with surprising strength given his current state.

“my turn,” you whispered, your voice low and needy as you positioned yourself over him.

“oh, yes,” he breathed, his large hands settling firmly on your waist. “wanna make you feel so good, baby.”

the first slide of him inside you was enough to make your eyes roll back, a broken moan tearing from your throat as he filled you to the brim. his earlier orgasm only made the stretch slicker, hotter, and all the more sinful.

“fuck, you’re perfect,” he groaned, his hands gripping you tighter as he helped you set a rhythm. “so tight, so beautiful — god, i love you so much.”

the sweetness of his words was a stark contrast to the filthy, desperate way he moved you on top of him. every roll of your hips had him groaning, his praise interspersed with dirty whispers that made heat pool in your belly.

“look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe as his gaze roamed over your flushed face and heaving chest. “taking me so well. my good girl — so fucking perfect for me.”

your head fell forward, your lips brushing against his ear as you whimpered, “harder.”

he didn’t need to be told twice. his grip on your hips became bruising, and his thrusts grew more forceful, each one sending shockwaves through your body that made your toes curl.

“that’s it,” he growled, his teeth grazing your jawline. “take it, baby. take everything i give you.”

“jesus christ,” fem gojo muttered from the sidelines, though her tone was tinged with amusement. “you two are something else.”

but you couldn’t care less about her commentary. not when gojo was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world, not when every filthy praise and touch from him had your body hurtling toward its breaking point.

as you and gojo clung to each other like your lives depended on it, fem gojo sat off to the side, arms crossed and lips pursed in a pout so exaggerated it could’ve been in a cartoon. the wet sounds of your bodies moving together echoed through the room, punctuated by your moans and gojo’s filthy praises. it was enough to make anyone blush — well, anyone but her.

“wow,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she watched you with a raised brow. “so glad i could be here for this. really feeling the thanksgiving spirit, you know?”

neither of you acknowledged her, too lost in your own world to pay her any mind. gojo’s hands were on your hips, guiding you up and down his dick with a fervor that had your legs trembling, and you were clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“seriously?” fem gojo scoffed, standing up and walking over to the dresser. “i’m the one who started this whole thing, and now i’m getting sidelined? unreal.”

when she turned back around, you barely noticed the telltale gleam of the strap-on in her hands until she was right behind you.

“guess i’ll have to remind you who’s really in charge here,” she said, her voice low and teasing as she adjusted the straps around her hips.

you barely had time to process her words before her hands were on you, pulling you back slightly so she could press her lips to your ear.

“don’t worry, sweetheart,” she cooed, her tone both saccharine and sinful. “i’ll make sure you’re thoroughly thankful by the end of this.”

gojo groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he glanced over your shoulder at his female counterpart. “seriously? now?”

“what?” she shot back, smirking as she lubed up the strap. “can’t handle a little competition, big guy?”

“it’s not competition when i’m winning,” he retorted, though the faint flush on his cheeks betrayed his bravado.

“yeah, yeah,” she said dismissively, positioning the strap against your entrance. “just try not to cry too hard when she screams my name, okay?”

your breath hitched as you felt the cool silicone press against you, and gojo’s eyes darkened as he watched your reaction.

“you okay, baby?” he asked softly, his hands caressing your sides.

you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper as you said, “yeah. just...go slow.”

“oh, i’ll go slow,” fem gojo murmured, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she began to push the strap inside. “at first.”

the stretch was intense, but the sensation of being filled in both places was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. your body trembled as you tried to adjust, and gojo was quick to kiss away the tears that formed in the corners of your eyes.

“that’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with pride and adoration. “you’re so fucking perfect.”

“she really is,” fem gojo added, her hands gripping your waist as she began to move. “and she’s gonna look even better when i make her scream.”

the two of them worked together seamlessly, their movements perfectly coordinated as they took you apart piece by piece. every thrust, every touch, every whispered word of praise sent you spiraling further into bliss, and you quickly lost track of where one ended and the other began.

gojo’s lips were everywhere — your neck, your shoulders, your chest — while fem gojo’s hands explored every inch of your body, her touch both firm and gentle in all the right ways.

“look at her,” fem gojo said, her voice thick with arousal as she watched you writhe between them. “so beautiful, so fucking needy. you love this, don’t you, sweetheart?”

you could only nod, your voice breaking as you tried to form a coherent response.

“she loves it,” gojo confirmed, his own voice strained as he watched you come undone. “she fucking loves it.”

it was a sensory overload, plain and simple. between gojo’s hands gripping your hips like a lifeline and fem gojo’s unrelenting pace behind you, you were sure your body was going to give out. 

but of course, these two were more focused on their ongoing battle of who could out-praise, out-dirty talk, or out-insult the other than on your well-being — not that you were complaining.

“god, she’s so tight,” fem gojo groaned, her fingers digging into your waist as she snapped her hips forward. “guess she likes me more than you, huh?”

gojo scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery. “oh, please. you’re just riding my coattails, loser. she’s dripping all over me.”

you wanted to protest, to tell them both to shut up and focus, but all that came out was a high-pitched moan as they found a rhythm that had your toes curling.

“ya hear that?” gojo teased, his grin smug as he looked over your shoulder. “she’s screaming for me. guess you’re not all that after all.”

fem gojo rolled her eyes, her pace quickening as she leaned forward to whisper in your ear. “don’t listen to him, baby. i’m the one making you see stars, aren’t i?”

you opened your mouth to answer, but all that came out was a broken sob of pleasure, and they both laughed — one soft and teasing, the other loud and boisterous.

“what’s the matter?” gojo asked, his tone faux-concerned as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “can’t handle it? too much for my pretty girl?”

“your pretty girl?” fem gojo shot back, her tone incredulous. “hate to break it to you, but she’s — fuck — she’s clenching around me like she doesn’t want me to stop. isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

you tried to nod, but the movement sent a shiver down your spine, and fem gojo chuckled.

“see?” she said smugly. “told you.”

gojo groaned, his head falling back against the headboard as he thrust up into you. “yeah, well, she’s making a mess all over my cock, so — shit — who’s really winning here?”

“winning?” fem gojo gasped, her rhythm stuttering for a moment as she tightened her grip on your hips. “you’re such a — goddamn, baby, you’re perfect — such a sore loser.”

“you’re just mad i’m the one she’s kissing,” gojo retorted, his hands pulling you impossibly closer. “bet you’d kill to have her lips on yours right now.”

“oh, like you wouldn’t,” fem gojo snapped, her voice breaking as you whimpered and clenched around them both. “you’re just lucky she’s too busy — fuck — to realize you don’t deserve her.”

“and you do?” gojo shot back, his thrusts growing sharper as he glared at his counterpart.

“goddamn it, both of you —” you tried to cut in, your voice hoarse from the onslaught of pleasure, but another wave hit you, and your words dissolved into a moan.

“see?” gojo said smugly, his grin widening as he leaned down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “she can’t even talk. that’s my girl.”

“keep dreaming,” fem gojo muttered, her pace quickening as she leaned forward to press her lips to your neck, her teeth grazing your skin.

⋆˙⟡ —

thanksgiving, truly the season of giving, and boy, was gojo in a giving mood tonight. 

the man was shaking beneath you, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. his hands, trembling but firm, clung to your thighs, his nails digging into your skin as he let out a downright pitiful whimper, his head tipping back with a dazed, glassy-eyed expression.

“that’s it,” he babbled, his voice slurred and broken as he bucked up weakly into you. “t-take it, sweetheart... take all of me — fuck, you’re gonna look so good, all round ‘n glowing —”

his breath caught in his throat, and with a drawn-out moan that bordered on wailing, he came in you, his hips jerking uncontrollably as you squealed at the sudden warmth. your own body clenched down on him, the sticky sensation of him filling you tipping you over the edge.

“oh my god,” you choked, your nails raking down his chest as your orgasm hit, leaving you trembling and gasping.

fem gojo, ever the opportunist, finally withdrew from behind you with a satisfied hum, the slick sheen on her strap glinting under the low light.

“awwwww, look at you two,” she teased, her tone dripping with mock sweetness as she unfastened the harness. “such a cute little mess. now, if you’ll excuse me…”

without missing a beat, she sank down onto the still-attached dildo, a low, satisfied groan escaping her lips as she rolled her hips. the obscene squelch of her movements made your already oversensitive body shudder, and you couldn’t help but turn your attention to her.

“c’mon, baby,” she teased, her grin wicked as she met your gaze. “don’t let me do all the work here. cheer me on, yeah?”

through the haze of pleasure and exhaustion, you managed a breathy laugh, your voice weak but teasing. “you’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

she threw her head back with a laugh of her own, her pace quickening as she dug her nails into her thighs. “damn right, i am.”

meanwhile, gojo looked like he was on the brink of passing out beneath you, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused as he muttered incoherent praises. whether it was the aftershock of his release or the dawning realization of what he’d just done — shooting his load into you with the enthusiasm of a man on a mission to give you a baby — you weren’t sure.

“you okay down there?” you asked, your voice soft and teasing as you brushed a damp strand of hair from his face.

“mmph,” he groaned, his arms weakly wrapping around your waist. “so good… so fucking good… gonna put a baby in you…”

fem gojo let out a loud, incredulous laugh, her movements stuttering for a moment as she caught her breath. “you really think one round’s enough for that, big guy?”

gojo groaned in protest, his grip tightening on you as he glared half-heartedly at her. “shut up… it only takes one…”

“sure, sure,” she said with a smirk, her hips picking up speed again as she threw you a wink. “guess we’ll just have to see, huh?”

and with that, thanksgiving turned into a whole new kind of holiday tradition. ah, the season of giving.

⋆˙⟡ —

patience might be a virtue, but fem gojo was clearly not in the mood for any virtuous behavior tonight. she had already tried being "respectful" by letting you and her male counterpart have your moment, but who was she kidding? the real deal — you — was right in front of her. 

and, well, when life gives you a stunning girlfriend covered in sweat and looking like sin itself, you don’t waste time fiddling with plastic.

“alright, babe,” fem gojo grinned, flipping her wolfcut back as she effortlessly scooped you off her passed-out counterpart. gojo was out cold, muttering something about “diapers” and “college funds,” his limbs splayed like a starfish on the bed. 

he wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon.

“don’t worry about him,” she said, tossing a glance at his unconscious form as she positioned you on top of her. “this is girl talk now. and mama’s gonna take real good care of you.”

your cheeks burned, and you instinctively clung to her shoulders, your thighs trembling as they straddled her. “you sure about this?” you whispered, voice laced with anticipation and a hint of shyness.

fem gojo’s grin widened, her hands steady as they guided your hips against hers. “baby, the only thing i’m not sure about is how the hell you’ve gone this long without letting me show you how girls really do it.”

she didn’t wait for a response, rolling her hips up against yours in one fluid motion. the friction sent a spark shooting through your body, and you gasped, your nails digging into her toned shoulders.

“see?” she cooed, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “told ya. mama’s got you.”

her hands gripped your waist, firm but gentle, as she took the lead, her movements slow and deliberate, teasing every whimper and moan out of you. your legs shook, but she held you steady, her grin never faltering.

“look at you,” she teased, leaning in to nip at your jawline. “already so sensitive. didn’t know my girl could get this worked up so quick. guess he’s not doing his job right, huh?”

“oh my god,” you groaned, burying your face in her neck to hide your embarrassment.

she chuckled, her hands slipping lower to grab a handful of your ass as she pushed you down harder against her. “nah, babe. i’m your god tonight.”

meanwhile, gojo snored in the background, blissfully unaware that his girlfriend and clone were having the time of their lives just a few feet away. 

ah, girlhood. lesbians, 1. gojo, 0.

⋆˙⟡ —

“sedimentation,” fem gojo mumbled, her cheek squished against your sweat-slick shoulder, arms wrapped around you like a clingy octopus. her legs tangled with yours, and despite how sticky and gross you felt, she showed no signs of letting go. “it’s important. gotta let things settle.”

you groaned, attempting to wiggle free, but she tightened her grip, pressing a lazy kiss to your collarbone. “settle what, exactly? i’m not some science experiment.”

“nah, you’re better than that,” she muttered, voice heavy with exhaustion. “you’re my cute little petri dish.”

“that’s not better!” you whined, half-laughing despite yourself.

fem gojo grinned against your skin, clearly pleased with her terrible analogy. but when she shifted slightly, the embarrassing squelch between your legs was impossible to ignore. you buried your face in your hands, heat rushing to your cheeks as you groaned in mortification.

“don’t even start,” you grumbled, glaring at her as she snickered.

“babe, that sound?” she teased, tapping her temple like she just had a galaxy-brain moment. “it’s gonna live rent-free in my head for years.”

“i hate you.”

“no, you don’t.”

you sighed, glancing over at satoru, who was still snoring like a freight train, completely oblivious to the chaos you’d all caused tonight. he looked oddly peaceful, sprawled out like some kind of overgrown child, his hair sticking up in all directions.

“we should clean up,” you muttered, trying to untangle yourself from fem gojo’s hold.

“nooooo,” she whined, tightening her grip and pulling you back down against her chest. “cleaning’s for losers. let’s just sleep. thanksgiving’s over anyway.”

“and satoru?” you asked, nodding toward his drooling form.

she waved a dismissive hand. “damage control can wait. he’s fine. probably dreaming about the best baby stroller to buy.”

you snorted, letting yourself relax against her. maybe she had a point. thanksgiving was chaotic, messy, and embarrassing beyond belief, but at least it ended with some semblance of peace.

“fine,” you relented, closing your eyes as sleep finally started to pull you under. “but next year? we’re doing thanksgiving normal.”

“sure thing, babe,” she mumbled, already half-asleep herself. “whatever you say.”

you had a sneaking suspicion that next year’s thanksgiving was going to be anything but normal. but for now, sleep. thank god for sleep.

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[jasvtsc]

dean winchester x angel!reader — family feud.

warnings! mentions of drugs, violence, abuse, bad parenting, neglect, john winchester, mary winchester, implied prostitution, fem!reader

word count! 1.5k

you didn’t hate.

sure, you disliked some things more than the others. but hate? that was a strong word.

however, when it came to john and mary winchester?

you fucking despised these two to the point it made you want to hurl.

and that’s a lot, coming from an angel. leaves some space to think about things, y’know?

anyway.

john and mary ‘the worst parents of the century’ winchester.

you could write the whole bible on their parental mistakes and how they both neglected their children, basically scarring them with lifelong traumas—especially dean.

of course, you didn’t want to belittle sam and his trauma, since he got the fair share of john’s bullshit himself. but dean was the one who had to step up and be both a father and a mother while only being a kid. and that’s not fair—for both of them.

dean was the one starving himself, so sammy had food, since john forgot about his kids or took too long on some hunt. he was the one who earned money in ways that were more shameful than one could’ve imagined. he was the one getting roofied and…

yeah, you were livid.

and you didn’t even get that from the brothers themselves. before coming to earth you got a solid debrief of what you were getting into. and that meant knowing about the shit they went through from a to z. that was probably the main reason why you were so nice to them instead of acting like a complete jackass like most of your feathery siblings.

you had compassion that some of them massively lacked. you were the literal example of an angel supposed to help humanity and heal troubled souls. you were the epitome of purity and goodness.

but to older winchesters? yeah, you were a little bitch.

ever since they came back to life—a family thing apparently—trying to redeem their mistakes and be this happy and loving family, there wouldn’t be a minute without you sending daggers with your glare or scoffing at every word that left their mouths.

not only did they break the rules of the living and undead (sam and dean didn’t count), but they acted as if they didn’t do anything wrong. as if they could make up for their mistakes. well, too fucking late for that.

you simply couldn’t watch them together nor could you understand why they forgave them so easily. why did dean forgive them. you were baffled, but for the first time, you didn’t feel like asking questions.

no, you were having too much pent-up anger that you began slowly turning into castiel. not that it was bad, but considering your usually bubbly and happy personality now so doom and stern? yeah, it was concerning. especially for dean.

but when he tried to confront you, you brushed it off and disappeared. just like cas. and you were disappearing more often, without telling anyone and god knows where. and dean began to think what had he done to upset you to the point where you couldn’t even stand being in the same room as he was. cause he was always ready to blame himself first.

he sighed, sitting in the library, sipping a beer while mindlessly staring at the wall. he was debating whether to start praying so you’d come, but then his father entered the room, startling him out of his thoughts. john put a hand on his shoulder, making him jump up in his seat and visibly tense up—a response that a true soldier should have. what a fucking bullshit, just another trauma response.

“come on, son. stop brooding over that angel. you know how they are. they don’t give a shit. we’re just humans for them. toys they can play with and then dispose of as soon as we’re old and cranky and without much use. they’re immortal. they’re getting bored quickly,” john sighed with a small chuckle, patting his son’s shoulder, which only made him flinch more.

“you don’t know her. she’s not like that,” dean muttered, rubbing his chin. you weren’t like that…right?

of course you weren’t. why did he even think that? you were his whole world, and he pretty much thought that he was yours. you weren’t like other angels—you were actually angelic and pure and all the other schmancy shit. but yeah, no, you weren’t like that, and his dad was fucking wrong.

“she’s an angel. a supernatural creature. that says enough. they shouldn’t be here anyway. their place is up there where they can be all high and mighty with those pretentious stares.”

“she’s not like that,” dean said more sternly this time, his voice strong and leaving no place for a discussion. you were his little birdie, and he wouldn’t let anyone badmouth you. not even his own father.

“you’re defending her now?” john scoffed in amusement, looking at his son in disbelief. “you’ve gotten soft,” he hummed.

“and? is it so bad now? i’m sorry to disappoint you. again,” dean stood up, ready to leave, when his father grabbed his arm and looked at him with those eyes that dean knew too well—those eyes that meant he was about to get his ass beat.

“don’t be a brat now. show your father some respect. i don’t think i taught you to run your mouth—" dean swallowed thickly, preparing himself to get a blow to his face or at least try to dodge it, perhaps.

however, before john could finish, suddenly his hand on dean’s arm was yanked away and painfully bent backwards as if it was going to break any moment, the angel blade pressed dangerously to an artery in his throat.

“touch him again and i’ll make sure to drag your ass to hell myself, you fucking deadbeat,” you hissed with so much venom and hatred in your voice that it honestly made dean speechless.

you had the deadliest expression dean had ever seen on your face. he felt goosebumps on the back of his neck, suddenly feeling as if he was frozen in place. to be honest, you looked pretty scary and intimidating for such a small and inconspicuous creature.

“oh, look who’s back from heaven,” john chuckled darkly, clearly pissed off by your presence. “tell her to back off,” he almost growled while shifting his eyes from you back to his son.

dean stood still. honestly? he didn’t want to help. he wanted to let you do your thing. he wanted you to protect him.

but it was his father. and he felt that he couldn’t just let him be treated by you like that.

“birdie, come on. drop it,” he sighed, coming closer and wrapping his arms around you, gently pulling you back. he knew you wouldn’t protest, and you knew that as well—you’d never hurt dean or even try to do something that would possibly hurt him. you’d probably cut your own wings off if he got even the smallest bruise because of you. “relax, okay. don’t do anything stupid, birdie,” he rubbed your arm, trying to calm you down.

with a huff, you turned around and looked at dean. “i don’t like him. and i don’t like your mother. these people are weird and had hurt you and i don’t trust them,” you hissed, keeping your voice a whisper so john wouldn’t hear as he tried to scramble himself up from the floor.

“birdie, they’re my parents. i—” but he cut off and raised his brow. “how do you even know what happened? i never tol—”

“angel stuff. doesn’t matter. i just don’t like it when you’re hurt and upset and feeling sad. and these two make you upset, sad and hurt!“ you tried to resonate. “i just want you to be happy. i can’t give you your childhood back nor i can undid every awful thing that happened to you. but i can try my best to make it better and give you what you missed out on. if you want to feel childish for a minute, we can do that together. i’m already considered to be one apparently,” you huffed with a small eye-roll.

and dean was speechless. he looked at you in disbelief, and all the other feelings that he couldn’t quite name. he felt his heart squeeze painfully in his chest, tears gathering up in his eyes. he tried to say something, to think of something, when john’s mocking chuckle echoed through the walls.

“are you kidding me? crying? what kind of soldier—” before he got a chance to finish, you sent him on the floor with a solid sucker punch to his face. john groaned and blinked hazily before losing consciousness.

you shook your hand with a small huff and then looked at wide-eyed dean.

“i’m not going to apologize for that,” you said in that direct and indifferent tone, pointing at john’s unresponsive body.

dean just blinked and then looked at you, his expression slowly softening. he smiled at you and pulled you closer.

“honestly? i don’t want you to. thanks birdie,” he hummed and kissed your temple, letting his lips stay on your skin for a moment, while you leaned into his invitingly warm touch. “i love you so much, my little angel.”

“i love you, too, deano.”

god, he was so glad to have you.

a/n: i’ll drop the drabble tomorrow cause i didn’t think i’d finish this shot faster lol😭

༄♡ tags: @frosttbitessam @beausling @deanswidow @titsout4nicholas @a1ecmcdowell @aileenunfiltered @figthoughts @fitxgrld @angelicp0etry @hrtsoldierboy @deansbite @artyandink @10ava01 @abellmunsonmovie

[crossdressingdeath]

It's bold of you to assume the Southern Chantry and the Circles were ever an institution of protection. They were the religious arm of the Orlesian war machine, the first Divine was a general. Their main purpose was justifying what Orlais did (it's very much a "these people are un-Andrastian so Orlais should steal their land" sort of deal); the good the Chantry does is done mostly by individuals in spite of the organization and as far as we see it's always been that way. It's about control, not differing beliefs, and things like what the Chantry does in Rivain is what it was always meant to do: justify atrocities with religious claptrap because the Orlesian war machine doesn't like letting people be different. This is very much its nature, no matter how many pretty stories it tells.

But anyway yeah, the biggest culprit for demon summoning and blood magic in the South... is in fact almost certainly the Chantry (Harrowings and phylacteries, respectively) no matter how much it does its best to foster a fear of blood mages, and has been ever since the Circles were founded. They create this deep-seated fear of mages and abominations in order to have control, and in the process create the very situation they supposedly exist to prevent; as we see in cultures that don't hold to the Chantry's views, if there were no Templars and Circles then Templars and Circles wouldn't be needed. Mages mostly turn to blood magic and demonic possession in fear and desperation, which they wouldn't have to if the Chantry didn't leave them constantly afraid of themselves and of the people who'll kill them or lock them up forever for the crime of existing! There will always be individual bad actors, but... well, it's like Dorian says: if you teach mages that their magic will be their downfall, then that's what it's going to be. It even extends to the buildings; all that demon summoning and blood magic and fear has left the Veil very thin in the Circles, it's no wonder that things go wrong so often. And it's no wonder that the Chantry uses things going wrong in the situations they created to justify those situations, instead of trying to learn from their mistakes. There is a reason why mages raised outside of the Circles and even better outside of the southern Andrastian treatment of mages entirely always seem to be much more well-adjusted and in control!

FINALLY SOMEONE SAID IT. Thank you Dorian for being the best once again and pointing out that hey maybe if the Chantry didn't treat their mages like shit and traumatize all of them they'd get possessed less often.

[sage-nebula]

The more I've thought about it over the past several days, the more disappointed I am with Mel's arc in season 2 of Arcane. Aside from how she was sidelined for most of the season (given that she spent most of it imprisoned), I feel like her magical abilities are actually a step down for her in terms of power -- that they're flashy and bright and meant to impress, meant to say "look, she can hold her own in battle now!" but that they exist at the expense of taking away the strength and power that Mel did have previously.

In season one, Mel's establishing character moment is when she's looking over a selection of items, and ends up choosing one that she is told is nothing more than a children's toy. In her next scene, she presents it to a fellow councilor as a birthday gift, and he is delighted, thinking that it is an intricate and complex puzzle that only the most brilliant minds can solve. This is such, such a strong characterization moment for Mel; it shows us that she is not only intelligent, but clever, able to work the people around her to her advantage without them noticing it.

And while the fandom has been nasty to her ever since season one aired, I don't think Mel being manipulative in this vein is at all a negative character trait. I think it is a strength. It shows how competent she is in her field, which is politics. And what's more, it's necessary for someone like her, who is a.) a foreigner, given that she only came to Piltover after being exiled from Noxus, and b.) quite young by political standards, given that she's only in her early 20s in act 1 of season 1.

We see this strength of Mel's continuously in season one, though not in the way her most ardent haters (and Jayce in act 3 of season 2, because of bad writing) believe. No, she did not pull the wool over Jayce's eyes and force him to make any decisions. He was a grown man who made choices all on his own, and choices that Mel supported him in making, at that. But she was able to see the potential in hextech, and help both Jayce and Viktor navigate and clear road blocks that would have otherwise impeded their progress. Jayce comes to her complaining that Heimerdinger is blocking progress of their research using the power of the council, and so she gets him on the council, for instance. And this was a feat; Jayce was seen as the "man of progress," but being a scientific innovator does not a politician make. But Mel was able to put him there, in a place where he (of his own volition!) called for the vote and made the speech that got Heimerdinger ousted from the council. Not that Mel was going for that -- she is clearly shocked in the scene and only raises her hand after Jayce nods at her for her support -- but still, it goes to show how Mel was able to influence situations around her, and navigate a political field that, by many measures, was set against her.

(Because while Mel was obviously not sent to Piltover with nothing, and therefore was undoubtedly housed in the luxury part of Piltover even in the early days of her exile, let's not make any mistake: she was still a foreigner to Piltover, and a child at that, when she arrived. Though her wealth gave her a leg up, she still had to work to get to where she was, and work hard; she had to shed whatever childhood innocence she still had in order to be able to navigate the political landscape of Piltover to get herself onto the council. No doubt Piltovan natives on the council wouldn't have wanted a foreigner sat among them, but she still managed it. And she managed it due to her own intelligence and inner strength.)

So in season one, we see that Mel is a powerful character in the narrative. She may not be participating in combat, but that is far from the only type of strength. Mel affects how things in the narrative go; she has agency in her own decisions, and she can move the narrative along due to the choices she makes and the actions she takes. She's one of the strongest pieces on the board in this respect.

Season two . . . takes that away from her.

Before her kidnapping, she's still in a position of power, albeit one that is slipping due to Ambessa partnering up with Salo in order to fight against Mel on the council. It doesn't help that a good chunk of the council is dead, and Piltover is shaking after Jinx's attack on the council building. Mel's position, of still wanting peace between Piltover and Zaun, is precarious. But she is still holding it. She holds against sending hextech weaponry against Zaunites (in order to protect Jayce's dream, of which he himself betrays not too long after). She stands against her mother and Salo. She's doing the best she can in the position she has and is still, however diminished her position may be from people (including her own boyfriend!) undermining her, affecting change.

But this changes after she gets kidnapped. Not only is she completely removed from the Piltover and Zaun plot for at least half the season (if not more), after she finally gets free and returns to Piltover in season three, it's as if all of her political savvy and sway has been stripped from her. We don't see her making any meaningful decisions regarding the future of Piltover. We don't see any indication that she has anything to do with Piltover's reconstruction and reformation of the council following the big battle. In said battle, she does fight (and kill) her mother using her shiny new magical abilities -- but that makes her just like any other combat-ready character on the show, able to kick ass in the physical arena. Yes, her abilities themselves are different, but the effect? Particularly when the abilities themselves strip Mel of not only the life she built for herself, but her home since her childhood, I can't be happy about them.

Because that's the crux of it. Yes, Noxus is where she was born, and where she spent early childhood. Yes, it's where her family is from. But your home is not necessarily where you were born. Mel was exiled to Piltover as a child, and she built a life there. She had her home, she had friends, she had a boyfriend. And while Elora, Jayce, and Viktor all died, I find it hard to believe that Mel had no other friends, even if we didn't see them. At the very least, she was friends with Caitlyn. At the very least, I believe she would have been an ally to Sevika on the council, given that she knows how it is to be a foreigner on that stage (Zaun is treated as foreign -- look at the way the other councilors glared at Sevika when she took her seat). And hell, her work on that council was dedicated into making Piltover a better place to live. It isn't as if she was just passively living in Piltover as her home; she was actively working to make it better.

But that is taken away from her at the end of the season, because she got these shiny magical powers that allowed her to kill her mother, and that means she has to return to Noxus. She has to return to a country that is as foreign to her now as Piltover was when she was exiled, completely alone, expected to lead a military when that isn't where her strength was. Her strength was in politics, not military command. But none of that matters now, because Mel was completely ousted from the position where she held her strength and power, with the show claiming it's okay because look, she can fight now!

(Also, side note, but I hate that fucking body suit she's in after she unlocks her mage powers. It feels grossly sexualized. Anyone who knows me knows that I fawn over Mel's beauty, because I am a lesbian and she is drop dead gorgeous, not to mention I love color contrasts and that gold with her dark skin and hair? OHKO on me. But although Mel was always designed to be gorgeous, I never felt she was designed in a sexualized way until that body suit. Something about the way that the implication is that it's just grafted onto her skin after she awakens her mage powers (because she wasn't wearing it before, but now she's wearing something so skin tight it looks painted on) makes it feel like she would be naked if the TV-14 rating would allow it. The way it exposes parts of her breast and her back don't help this. It feels like a, yeah, Mel has these incredibly strong new magic powers, but she also looks like more of a sexual object to take gratification in. Like they're "powering her up," but also powering her down at the same time. It feels very video game character design of them, compared to how beautiful and empowering all of her previous outfits were. Maybe I'm the only one to feel this way, but I just really hate it.)

This isn't a formal essay and so I'm sure my thoughts are all over the place, but ultimately, I just can't be satisfied with Mel's arc. I can't be satisfied that she was removed from the plot and allowed to affect so little of it after that was her greatest strength (and made her a truly standout character!) in season one. I can't be happy that she loses the life and home she built for herself in Piltover, to be sent back to a country she didn't want to return to alone. I can't be happy that the excuse for removing her from the plot was to give her magic powers so She Can Fight Now, when plenty of other characters already fight and so it doesn't make her stand out. I can't be happy that Jayce was made to spew anti-Mel talking points that the fandom had been putting out for years, none of which were true. And I really can't be happy that they put her in that ugly fucking body suit, which feels really demeaning for reasons I don't think I explained properly.

Mel deserved better. Point of fact, she deserved better. I'm happy she didn't die, but god, she was still done dirty.

[bassmars]

Sub! Neuvillette x Dom! GN Reader

Was bored at night and wrote this, pretty OOC but decided to post it since I haven’t posted anything since last time.

————————

The Chief Justice’s Punishment

submissive neuvillette nsfw

warnings: light bondage, dom/sub dynamics, humiliation kink, orgasm denial/ edging, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, office sex, authority kink, also names like slut and etc

The soft scratch of quill against parchment filled Neuvillette's private chambers, his elegant handwriting flowing across yet another legal document. You watched him from across his massive oak desk, remembering how it all started months ago – one small error that led to discovering the Chief Justice's deepest desires. Since then, these "private corrections" had become your little secret, each session leaving him more obedient, more desperate for your control.

"My, my..." you purred, standing slowly. "What do we have here, Chief Justice? Another mistake?"

His breath audibly caught – he knew what that tone meant. After all your previous encounters, Neuvillette's body had become finely tuned to your dominance. Sometimes you wondered if he made these small errors on purpose now, craving what would follow.

"Is it that time again?" he asked softly, his formal demeanor already beginning to crack. His fingers twitched on the desk, remembering how you'd bound them with his own sash last time.

You circled the desk, document in hand. "You know the drill by now, don't you, pet?" The nickname made him shudder – he'd earned it after the third time you'd reduced him to begging.

"Yes..." he breathed, already rising from his chair without being told. Months of training had taught him well.

"Yes, what?" you prompted, eyes narrowing.

"Yes, Your Honor," he corrected himself quickly, cheeks flushing. The title had started as a joke during one of your sessions, but the way it made him tremble had quickly turned it into a requirement.

You reached out to trace his jaw with one finger. "Look how well you've learned. Remember when you used to protest? Now you're practically quivering for it." Your hand slid down to his ceremonial sash. "Should we add another lesson to your education today?"

Neuvillette's eyes darkened with familiar need. "Please..." he whispered, already losing his composed facade. "I've been... waiting for you to notice."

"Oh?" You yanked him closer by his sash. "Did someone make mistakes on purpose? Has my strict Chief Justice become such a needy little slut for punishment?"

The whimper that escaped him was answer enough. Months of these encounters had stripped away his inhibitions, revealing the submissive creature that had always lurked beneath his authoritative exterior.

"Strip," you commanded. "And tell me exactly what you hoped to achieve with your little... error."

With practiced grace, Neuvillette began removing his elaborate robes, each layer revealing more of his pale, perfect skin. His fingers trembled slightly – not from nervousness anymore, but from anticipation.

"I... I may have misplaced those documents intentionally," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "It's been a week since our last... session."

You clicked your tongue disapprovingly, though heat pooled in your core at his confession. "So desperate you'd risk court efficiency? My, my... you've become quite the needy little dragon, haven't you?"

Now down to just his fitted undergarments, Neuvillette's breathing had grown heavy. The obvious bulge in his pants betrayed his arousal. "I apologize for my... impropriety."

"Oh, you will," you promised, grabbing his sash from the discarded robes. "Hands behind your back."

He complied immediately, shivering as you bound his wrists with practiced efficiency. The silk sash – a symbol of his authority – now served to strip him of control.

"Look at you," you purred, walking around him slowly. "The mighty Chief Justice, bound and trembling. What would your subordinates think if they saw you like this?"

A desperate whine escaped his throat. "Please... Your Honor..."

You grabbed a fistful of his silky hair, yanking his head back. "Please what? Use your words properly, or you won't get what you need.

"Please use me," he gasped, dignity crumbling. "I've been thinking about it all week – your hands, your commands, how you make me... make me..."

"Make you what?" You bit his exposed neck, marking him just below where his collar would hide it.

"Make me lose control," he moaned, hips jerking helplessly. "Make me beg. Make me yours."

Your free hand slid down his chest, toying with the waistband of his undergarments. "And what makes you think you deserve it? After deliberately sabotaging court documents?"

"Because," you growled into his ear, yanking his underwear down roughly, "you're already dripping for me." Your hand wrapped around his length, already slick with precum. "Such a needy little dragon."

Neuvillette's legs trembled as you stroked him slowly, teasingly. "F-fuck," he cursed, a rare break in his usual eloquent speech that made you grin wickedly.

"What filthy language from our Chief Justice," you taunted, squeezing harder. "I think that deserves some punishment, don't you?”

You pushed him forward until he was bent over his desk, important documents scattered beneath him. His bound hands flexed helplessly as you spread his legs wider. The sharp sound of skin meeting skin filled the room as you landed blow after blow on his perfect ass, watching it turn a beautiful shade of pink.

His moans grew increasingly desperate with each strike, cock twitching against the expensive wood of his desk. The mighty Chief Justice, reduced to rutting against his own furniture – the sight made heat pool between your legs.

"Please," he begged, voice cracking, "I need..."

You leaned over him, pressing against his bare back. "What do you need? Tell me exactly what you want."

"I need you inside me," he moaned, abandoning all pretense of dignity. "Please, Your Honor, I've been empty all week, thinking about you filling me, stretching me open..."

You reached around to stroke his leaking cock again. "Such a slutty dragon, begging to be filled. Should I prepare you first, or have you been playing with yourself, thinking of me?"

His answering whimper told you everything you needed to know. You pressed yourself against him, letting him feel your arousal through your clothes. "Tell me. Did you fuck yourself with your fingers, imagining it was me?"

"Y-yes," Neuvillette admitted, his voice trembling with need. "Every night, but it wasn't enough... never enough compared to you..."

You smirked, reaching for the vial of oil you knew he kept in his desk drawer – another sign of how these encounters had become routine. "Show me then. Show me how desperate you are."

Releasing his bound hands, you commanded, "Spread yourself for me. Let me see how badly you want it."

Despite his usual composure, Neuvillette didn't hesitate. He reached back with both hands, spreading himself open, his hole already slightly loose from his earlier preparations. The sight made you groan with desire.

"Such an obedient" you praised, drizzling the cool oil over his exposed entrance, watching him twitch at the sensation. "Look how easily my finger slides in..." You pushed one digit inside, feeling barely any resistance. "Did you do this before our meeting? Were you sitting in court all day, stretched and ready for me?"

"Yes," he gasped, pushing back against your finger. "Please, Your Honor, I need more..."

You added a second finger, scissoring them inside him. "The mighty Chief Justice, reduced to begging... what would your subordinates think if they could see you now? Their composed leader dripping and desperate?"

His cock twitched violently at your words, a stream of precum leaking onto the scattered documents below. "Please... please..."

You lined yourself up against his entrance, teasing him with just the tip. "Beg properly for what you want, neuvillette~. Tell me exactly how badly you need it."

"Please, I need you to fuck me," Neuvillette begged, his usual eloquent vocabulary reduced to desperate pleas.

"Tsk, tsk," you teased, still only letting the tip press against him. "And here I thought the great Chief Justice was supposed to be perfect. First those sloppy mistakes in your paperwork, and now you can't even beg properly?"

You pushed in just slightly before pulling back out completely, making him whine. "Your Honor, please! I need you to fill me, to punish me for my careless errors..."

"That's better," you praised, finally pushing into him slowly. "But I don't think you've learned your lesson yet about being thorough with your work."

Once fully seated inside him, you remained still, watching him try to squirm back against you. His usually perfect hair was disheveled, face flushed as he panted against the desk.

"Every..." you pulled out slowly, "single..." thrust back in sharply, "detail..." another slow withdrawal, "matters."

Each word was punctuated by your movements, keeping him on edge but never giving him the hard, fast pace he craved. When he tried to reach for his own neglected cock, you grabbed his wrists.

"Did I say you could touch yourself?" you scolded. "Such poor impulse control. Maybe that's why you made those filing mistakes? Too distracted thinking about this?"

"I'm sorry," he gasped, "I'll be more careful, I promise, just please... please fuck me properly..."

You leaned over his back, biting his ear. "Oh? Like this?" You snapped your hips forward hard once, then returned to the torturously slow pace. "Or maybe you haven't earned it yet. Should we review all your mistakes first?"

His cock twitched beneath him, dripping steadily onto the very documents he'd mishandled. "I'm close," he warned, voice breaking.

"Oh no," you pulled out completely, making him sob with frustration. "You don't get to cum until you've recited every single error you made today. And they better be accurate..."

Neuvillette's perfect composure shattered as he struggled to focus, his voice trembling. "The... the case files from the merchant district were... ah!" He broke off as you pushed back in torturously slow.

"Go on," you commanded, stilling your hips. "Every. Single. Detail."

"The timestamps were... were incorrect," he gasped, trying to push back against you but your firm grip on his hips kept him still. "And I mixed up the... oh gods... the witness statements from—"

You pulled out again, making him whimper. "Careful now. Accuracy is everything in court, isn't it?"

"The witness statements from cases 347 and 348," he corrected himself quickly. "Please, Your Honor, I'm trying..."

"Not good enough," you tsked, running a finger down his spine. "What else?"

His cock throbbed desperately as he continued, "The... the evidence logs were filed in the wrong sequence... please, I'm so close..."

"And?" You pushed back in painfully slow, watching him fall apart.

"The dates! I switched the dates on the final verdicts!" He was practically sobbing now. "Please, I've admitted everything, I need to cum so badly..."

You established a steady rhythm, but still not the pounding he craved. "Such careless mistakes from someone so important. What would your subordinates think?"

"They'd be... ah... disappointed," he moaned, his thighs trembling. "I'm supposed to be... perfect... flawless..."

"But you're not, are you?" You reached around to grasp his leaking cock. "You're just a needy little dragon who makes mistakes just to get punished..."

"You're right," Neuvillette sobbed, past caring about his dignity now. "I'm not perfect, I'm just a needy slut who needs to be punished, please Your Honor, I'll do anything..."

"Anything?" You squeezed the base of his cock hard, preventing his approaching orgasm. "Then you won't cum until I say so, will you Neuvillette?"

He shook his head frantically, tears of frustration streaming down his face. "No, Your Honor, I'll be good, I'll wait..."

You increased your pace finally, pounding into him mercilessly while keeping a firm grip on his cock. His whole body shuddered, caught between the intense pleasure and the denial of release.

"Look at you," you panted, "the mighty Chief Justice, drooling on his own desk, begging like a common whore. Should I make you cum? Or should I keep you on edge all day? Make you sit through court later, desperate and aching?"

"Please!" he cried out, his usual composed voice completely wrecked. "I need it so badly..."

You leaned down to bite his shoulder hard. "Maybe I should make you cum over and over until you're oversensitive and crying, until you can't remember any of those legal codes you're so proud of. Would you like that better?"

His cock twitched violently in your grip at the suggestion. "Yes! Yes, please, anything you want, just please let me cum!"

"Hmm," you pretended to consider it, never slowing your brutal pace. "I don't know... have you really learned your lesson about being careful with your work?"

“Let’s see how much you can take” you purred, finally releasing your grip on his cock. "Cum for me. Show me how desperate you were."

Neuvillette came with a broken cry, his whole body convulsing as he spilled over his precious documents. But you didn't stop – instead, you increased your pace, hitting his sensitive spot relentlessly.

"Did I say you could stop?" you growled when he tried to squirm away. "We're going to make sure this lesson really sticks."

"Too much," he gasped, his softening cock already twitching back to hardness. "Please, I can't—"

"Can't?" you mocked, reaching around to stroke him roughly. "The great Chief Justice giving up so easily? What happened to that famous endurance of yours?"

His second orgasm hit him even harder than the first, leaving him trembling and incoherent. Tears streamed down his face as you continued to fuck him through it, his oversensitive body caught between pleasure and pain.

"Look at you," you whispered, "coming apart so beautifully. Should we go for three? Make sure you never forget this lesson?"

"Please," he sobbed, not even sure anymore if he was begging for mercy or more. His cock was hardening again despite his protests, his body betraying how much he loved being used like this.

"Color?" you checked, making sure he was still okay to continue.

"Green," he gasped out immediately, "so green, please don't stop..."

[saphiccarma]

Can I request a Rio x Reader one shot where Reader gets hurt during her trial and Rio takes care of her afterwards ? Just some sweet hurt/ comfort 😭

- Did you get enough love, my little dove?

Relationships: Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: After Alice's trial, comes yours. You weren't prepared to deal with past memories of pain.

Warnings: Violence. Angst. Fluff

A/N: I'm sorry that the requests are taking so long for me to get through! I promise I'm working on them.

The New Moon was high in the sky, its light shining down through the trees. You meandered at the back of the group, Rio lingering next to you, her hand brushing against yours, soft and gentle. Rio wasn't often a kind person, often preferring to hide her care behind teasing remarks, but when she caught sight of the moon in the sky she knew who's trial it would be.

The coven approached a little cabin that stood there, bright grass blooming around it and flowers blossoming in the front. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of the familiar building, your steps halting. Rio glanced back at you, a brow raised in a challenge, and your pride flared. You huffed before moving forward and marching towards the house.

"Who's trial is this?" Teen asked, examining the door that was locked. It had runes carved onto the front; ones meticulously carved out after days of work. You remember working them onto the door by hand, a project you devoted yourself to for days. You had carved runes all over the walls of the house, preventing other witches from using their magic, but the runes on the door were for a special reason alone.

Agatha hummed as she examined the runes before turning back to you with an expectant brow. The witch had visited you once while you lived here, searching for another gullible victim before moving on. You stepped up to the house, muttering a small spell and pressed your hand up to the door. The runes glowed a soft blue before it opened with a click. Jen muttered something to Alice behind you.

The coven entered the door and the minute they did, everyone disappeared. It seems this was a trial meant for you alone. While it struck you as odd, since the Road was intended for the coven, you let it slide. You scanned your old house, taking it in. The fireplace was lit with a few logs burning inside it. A book was set on the table in the center of the room, it's cover from having read it over and over.

You picked it up, reading over the pages as a soft smile crossed your face - peace washing over you. It was a book your mother had read to you as a child, an old book, and you could still hear her soft words as she stroked your hair. You didn't have the exact copy, it had been burned by witch hunters years ago, but this was close enough.

Just as you were about to settle on the couch, lost in the world of the book, the door burst open, shouts filling the room. You leapt up, hands poised to fight as you caught sight of familiar faces. Men, with masks on their face, and knives in their hands. Modern witch hunters. No guns, guns were too loud, too avoidable with magic. Backing up, your hands pressed into the wall. Their eyes were alight with sinister intent.

You glanced down at your hands as blue magic glowed, but also noticed that you were devoid of the scars you had received many years ago. The men approached, slowly, cornering you, and then one lunged. The minute he lunged, you copied your movements from the past, not learning from your mistakes, and tried to blast him. He flew back, hitting the wall, slumped and lifeless. It was one of the only times you had taken a life.

Even if you knew it happened, you stared horrified at his hollowed chest. You magic had created the gaping whole that tore all the way through him, burnt so that no blood could come out. It was a horrifying sight, one you would never get used to, no matter how many times you had killed.

While you were stunned another one of the men lunged, his hands securing a rope around yours.

Your magic was incapacitated.

You fought as he grabbed your wrists, hauling you close to the fire. Memories of the first time this happened were seared into your brain, but there was nothing you could do. No matter how hard you thrashed, no matter how much you kicked and screamed. Even as you cried for Rio, for anyone in the coven, it did nothing. The man pulled you down to the ground and so close to the fire that the heat licked your skin.

Taking a hold of your forearms, the witch hunter shoved your hands into fire. You clenched your teeth as it burned your fingers, refusing to let the pain escaped in the form of screams.

"You use these hands to hurt so many people, don't you?" he snarled into your ear, the words cutting deep into your chest. And before you had time to process them, there was a cold metal pressed against your back as the hem of your shirt was lifted up.

You knew what was coming. The blade pressed into your skin as you hands began to go numb into the fire. Words were carved into your back, painful and slow and tedious. Before he could finish both of the men were torn away. Rio had thrown one of them into the wall with Teen and Agatha tearing the other away from you.

Rio rushed forward after killing the man swiftly with her knife, rushing forward towards you. You scrambled back, wrists held tight to your chest and eyes frantically scanning the area. Pausing, Rio took in your state, and her face softened.

"My love," she cooed, crouching down and reaching out, but not touching, "It's Rio."

Your eyes met hers, and although it took you a moment to recognize her, you threw yourself at her, regardless of the pain, clinging to her desperately. With numb fingers, you sobbed into her shirt - hardly noticing that the back door slid open, revealing the road. Teen and Agatha stood away, the latter eyeing you with an odd mix of disdain and pity.

"Sweetheart, we have to leave." Rio gently helped you up, ignoring your whimper of pain and guided you out the door and onto the road once more. Once that was done your wounds vanished, disappearing completely.

You nearly sobbed in relief, until you noticed the scars still lingered. Some part of you had hoped they would be gone. Teen and Alice tried to approach you. He reached his hand out to touch your arm, a thing meant to be comforting, but Rio had her knife out as you flinched.

"Touch her and I will fucking kill you." She snarled, pulling you close, ignoring Agatha's scoff and Jen's annoyed sound. Rio dragged the two of you further away and set you down on the ground, gently sitting next to you.

You curled into her, resting your head on her lap as she stroked her hands through your hair. It felt divine to have her fingers tracing your jaw and slipping up and down your neck. Sighing, you pushed back into her stomach so that your face was buried. Her outfit allowed for skin-to-skin contact, and her cold skin was a nice contrast to the heat of the fire you had felt moments ago. Rio chuckled slightly, her fingers pausing, and she bent down to give place a tender kiss onto your head.

You were shaking in her gentle hold, eyes trained forward as you tried to push away the dull phantom pain and the lingering memories that danced beneath your eyes. Rio's fingers were soothing as they stroked your chin. A steady movement - up and down, tracing back up into your hair before going back down.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," she whispered. You shook your head into her stomach, non-verbally telling her it wasn't her fault. Slowly, your body stopped shaking, but you still clung to her desperately. Her presence was grounding. She made you feel safe even though you felt like witch hunters would pop around the corner and attack you.

The two of you sat there in silence for a while, your head pressed into her stomach while she soothed your worried mind.

"You won't ever leave, right?" Your words were broken and raw, vulnerability at its truest form. At least for you.

Rio's hands froze in your hair, but she leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, "Never."

[yoshi17here]

̤̮ ₊˚ ⋅ᡣ𐭩ʚGrateful Hearts & Thanksgiving Startsɞ̤̮•‧₊˚ ⋅♡

YOSHIˎˊ˗: OMG I wrote so!!!!! much hope you guys like ittt!!

word count: 1130

paring:non idol jake x non idol y/n

---___ •ᴗ• ___--- •ᴗ• ---___ •ᴗ• ___--- •ᴗ• ---___ •ᴗ•___--- •ᴗ• ---___

I could feel my heart racing in my chest as I stood in front of Jake’s house, the crisp autumn air brushing against my cheeks. The leaves were turning shades of gold and red, a perfect fall day to be surrounded by family. Jake had been talking about introducing me to his parents for a while, but this was different—it was Thanksgiving dinner.

The pressure of meeting his family felt heavier than usual. Thanksgiving was one of those holidays that meant a lot to people. It was about family, warmth, and gratitude, and I couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Would they like me? What if I didn't fit in?

Jake squeezed my hand, his comforting touch grounding me in the moment. He could probably feel my nervousness, and with that signature smile of his, he reassured me, "Don’t worry, Y/N. My parents are going to love you. Plus, I’ve been telling them so much about you. They’re already excited to meet you.”

I took a deep breath and nodded, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. I trusted Jake completely—after all, we'd been dating for a few months now, and it was clear that we had something real. But the thought of meeting his parents... that was something else entirely.

Before I could overthink it, Jake opened the door, and the warm, delicious scent of Thanksgiving dinner wafted out. “Mom, Dad, we’re here!” he called out with that carefree energy of his.

His mom, a kind woman with soft features and a welcoming smile, appeared from the kitchen. She was wearing a cozy sweater, and her hands were covered in flour from what looked like baking. Jake's dad followed close behind—tall, with a warm and serious demeanor, but I could see the gentle spark of affection in his eyes as he looked at Jake.

“Y/N!” Jake’s mom exclaimed, immediately pulling me into a tight hug. I froze for a second, unsure of what to do, but then I relaxed into the embrace. Her hug was as warm as the house, and the scent of cinnamon and rosemary made everything feel homely.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said with a bright smile. “Jake’s told us so much about you!”

“I’ve heard so much about you too,” I said, my voice a little shakier than I intended. “Thank you for having me over.”

“No need to thank us, dear,” she said, pulling back but still holding onto my shoulders with affection. “We’re so happy Jake found someone so kind and wonderful.”

“Mom,” Jake groaned from behind me, but there was no mistaking the grin on his face. “You’re embarrassing me.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s okay, Jake. Your mom’s really sweet.”

Jake’s dad, who had been standing a little behind with his arms crossed, finally spoke up. “Welcome, Y/N. It’s good to meet you.”

His voice was deep and calm, and I could sense the respect he had for me already. There was no judgment, just a quiet warmth. I smiled, a little nervous but trying to keep my composure. “Thank you for inviting me. I’m really excited to be here.”

Jake’s dad nodded and smiled slightly. “We’re glad you could join us. Dinner will be ready soon. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

With that, Jake led me inside, and we were immediately surrounded by the comfort of family. The dining room table was beautifully set, with plates of mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, turkey, and a dozen other dishes that made my stomach rumble.

“Go ahead and sit down,” Jake said, pulling out a chair for me. “I’ll get the drinks.”

I sat down, feeling both nervous and excited, as his parents finished putting the last touches on the table. Jake returned with a bottle of sparkling cider and began pouring drinks for everyone.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Jake’s dad said again as he sat down at the head of the table. “Jake’s been happy ever since he started dating you.”

Jake’s mom added with a wink, “We could tell he was in love the moment he started talking about you nonstop.”

I felt my cheeks flush. Jake glanced at me, his eyes sparkling with affection, before he quickly reached across the table to squeeze my hand. “I love you,” he murmured under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

“I love you too,” I whispered back, smiling.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur of laughter, stories, and delicious food. Jake’s parents were easy to talk to, and I found myself relaxing more and more as the night went on. His mom shared funny stories of Jake’s childhood, and his dad chimed in with his own memories of their family trips. I could tell that family meant everything to them—and I was starting to see just how much Jake was a reflection of them: kind, thoughtful, and filled with love.

After dessert, which was a homemade pumpkin pie that tasted like heaven, Jake stood up. “Alright, we’ve got one more thing to do. Y/N, you ready?”

I looked up at him curiously. “What’s going on?”

He grinned mischievously. “We’re going to play a game! A family tradition.”

I laughed nervously. “Okay, I’m game.”

Jake’s mom brought out a box of cards and began setting them up. “It’s called ‘Thanksgiving Trivia.’ We go around the table, ask questions, and everyone has to answer. Whoever gets the most right wins.”

“I’ll warn you now,” Jake’s dad said with a knowing smile, “Jake’s unbeatable at this game. Don’t let him intimidate you.”

Jake smirked proudly. “I’ve got a good memory, that’s all.”

We played for hours, and in the end, Jake did win—but only by a few points. We were all laughing by the time the game was over, and as the evening wound down, I realized that I had felt so comfortable with Jake’s family. They weren’t intimidating at all. In fact, they made me feel like I had always been part of the family.

As we left their house, Jake slipped his hand into mine. “See? That wasn’t so bad, right?”

I smiled up at him, my heart full. “It was amazing. Your family is wonderful.”

Jake grinned, pulling me into a quick kiss. “I’m glad you like them. Because you’re stuck with us now.”

I laughed, feeling a rush of happiness. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And as we walked to the car, the autumn breeze carrying the scent of fallen leaves, I knew that this Thanksgiving was one I’d never forget. The warmth of Jake’s family, the love we shared, and the comfort of being surrounded by people who cared—it was the perfect start to a new chapter in our lives together.

[lalchimiedecupid]

Sins of the Past buried at the Old Creek:

II: The Plague

TW: Death, vomiting, mentions of rape, childbirth (a bit graphic),

"Sister Lilia?" The voice weakly croaked out, body covered in sores and bubones. The poor girl was one of the youngest to have the plague. She was tending to her mother first before she eventually became far too ill to recover.

Like most of her coven.

The Black Death had come and wiped as many as it can. But she knew it was coming to an end, eventually at least. They shall rest. But how many of her sisters will she mourn before the plague leaves them?

Before Death removes her cold clutches,buried deep. Deep within the soils of Europe and all it's poor citizens. Every country has suffered, and she has lived through it. She tried to, she really did.

They came to her in hopes of healing, her poor coven, now having had deteriorated into nothing.

Death comes for us all. And it was no comfort knowing that death left her alone in the world while she reaped the souls of those she loves.

She couldn't stop The Plague.

"She's so young" Lilia whispered quietly to the shadowed figure hidden in the corner.

"I'll be gentle" The figure whispered as it slowly stepped into the barely lit room, the skeletal face morphing into one of a woman."I'll be here before dawn"

"I'll wait for you" Lilia whispered ever so quietly.

"Death does not call for you"

"Yet"

"..Yet"

"You almost killed her" Agatha hissed angrily at Death as she approached them.

"Her time has come. And yet again, you fail to serve me" Rio shot back as Agatha tightened her hold onto Lilia.

"Stay away from her, Rio! Haven't you taken enough?" The witch hissed through gritted teeth. "You took Nicky and now Lilia?"

"Calm down—" The older witch said quietly as she tried to soothe Agatha's growing hysteria.

"Nicky was never meant to be born" It was a cruel snarl, one that cut deeper than her dagger ever could. "Don't you remember? The three days labor? The tremors? The chaos you've caused because you refused to be cut open and deliver?"

"Agatha" Lilia's quiet voice called for her, pulling her out of her state of unconsciousness.

"Mhm" A tired groan escaped her lips before she was jolted awake by a new wave of contractions.

It was her second day of labor. To be more precise, her water broke at the news of a new witch hunt. When one of the young witches she had cared for and helped care for her in return was killed by being raped to death. Filthy pilgrims. Filthier mortals. The poor girl couldn't be older than 14, a sweet child with the prettiest curls and big bambi eyes. A ray of sunshine she had allowed herself to grow attached to. Terrible, terrible mistake. But it was the way that sweet angel looked at Lilia and behaved like her. Followed her around like a lost duckling and always clung to her on cold nights. The domesticity that Lilia and that girl— Amar — had made her anticipate the arrival of her baby. So her and Lilia can raise them together, and Rio too. But knowing her she might not always be present. But as long as she had Lilia by her side, she'll be okay.

And yet,she's been in labor for 2 days, 12 hours, 37 minutes and 56 seconds. The blood loss has not stopped. The baby was stuck, and Rio's presence filled the air but was not yet present to take away her child from her.

So she holds still onto the invisible strings of hope.

"Lili—" A chocked sob escaped Agatha's lips as she went back to pacing around, a hand on her lower back and one rubbing her thigh, a failed attempt at self soothing.

"Let me help you" The older witch whispered, approaching Agatha carefully and placing a hand on her belly. "Let's try to push"

Agatha could only nod her head, tears still streaming down her cheeks, down a familiar path, before she settled onto the bed, now with new sheets while the other soaks in a bath of water and vinegar.

"Spread your legs for me" Lilia instructed gently, coaxing her legs apart so she can see how dilated she is. It did not look well from the way her brows furrowed and the dimple on her forehead appeared. No it did not look good at all.

With a darkened expression, the Sicilian witch said softly, testing the waters almost "We may have to do a little cut—"

She tried to explain the process to her like one would to a wounded child. But she was smarter than that, she knew how this usually goes. Mortal women died in their birthing beds. Witch women survive but barely. But she trusted Lilia, and she'd let her go through with it because she knew the woman wouldn't let her bleed out. But Rio's presence in the air was not reassuring.

"NO!"

"Okay, okay, sweetheart" Lilia said almost immediately, trying to shush her as Agatha's whimpers grew in sound.

The divination witch sat by her and wiped at her forehead with a damp cloth, getting behind her so she can hold her to her.

"You'll be okay" She kept on whispering the same words, Agatha's face buried into the crook of her arm, sobbing away her pain.

After a moment of tense silence, Rio had approached them both and ran her hand over Lilia's back, healing the wound the divination witch sustained from the sword's blade.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap" Death mumbled into Lilia's hand, avoiding Agatha's glare at all costs.

"It's alright. My time was supposed to come" Lilia tried to reassure her, as she always did. Because Lilia always accepted harm when it came her way. Because Lilia does not know how to mourn, her grief grows and grows to a point of no return. Where it's far too big to breathe in, to live, to cope. It suffocates and it kills. So sacrificing herself always seemed more logical, if only to spare her exhausted heart the pain of losing someone once again. Yet Death was much more cruel, even to her lovers.

"I want that boy, and you will give him to me Agatha" Rio said bitterly. "Walking the "road" with another woman's son! Thinking this would give you what you want, right?" She scoffed. "Look to where it lead you! Lead us! He almost killed Lilia and then he'll be after you"

"You want the boy?"

"He broke the rules, he ruined the balance. Instead of gaining two souls I got none"

A pregnant pause was in the air before Agatha said in an ever so quiet whisper, a tone used to threaten and get a point through Rio's thick head.

"I'll give you the boy, if, you retire this form"

Another pause as both Lilia and Rio stared at Agatha with wide eyes.

"No no no — NO!" The Sicilian witch sobbed as she cradled Amar's body to her chest. "How could you? How could you sit back and watch them hurt her?!" She screamed at the skeletal figure that stood in the shadows.

"Ten of swords —"

Both present and past gasped, eyes wide as they stared at Rio.

"You watched them hurt her! You let them hurt her! She was but a child! An innocent soul!" Lilia could only sob, clinging onto the girl's battered body. "How could you? How could you?"

"I'm sorry" Death whispered, coming to hold her close, a failed attempt at soothing her.

"But this is the form you fell in love with" It was a broken whisper, almost desperate.

"And I regret every second of it"

"You two can not be at it again! You're only now just reuniting , you can't be at each other's throats once more!" Lilia scolded, attempting to fix the miserable situation between the two of them.

"I'm not the one who took our son from us!"

"I didn't have any other choice! Nicky was never meant to survive the birth, he's the son of Death! You think I wanted you to go through the pain of carrying him only to lose him all over again?" Death growled.

"Then you should've never—"

"STOP!" Lilia yelled, her hands covering her ears. "Don't — Don't take her don't — Five of cups" Her eyes snapped open with a gasp, feeling Rio's cold hands on her face as she stared at her with teary eyes.

"Shhh, you're okay" She whispered ever so softly, wiping away the stray tear that fell from her eye.

"Lili?" Agatha asked quietly, those sad eyes now directed at her, making her heart clench almost painfully. "Lili, Melilla, are you okay?"

"I don't think I have much time" She whispered hoarsely. "I don't want to spend it all alone"

"GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT! GET THE MONSTER OUT!" Agatha screamed, clawing at her swollen belly as more blood dripped down her calves.

"Shh, shh, sweetheart, please let me help you—" The divination's witch's words were falling onto deaf ears as Agatha continued to pace around in pain.

"It's been three days! Three days and the baby— the baby won't come out" She sobbed tears she could no longer shed. Her throat was raw and her eyes were red. She's been bathed twice now, said it'll help with the contractions, will make her feel better. But pain is worth than death. And her body could carry on bleeding out for so long before it reaches it's limits.

"Lilia �� Lilia baby —"

"I'm here, I'm here" The older woman guided her to sit by the foot of the bed, coaxing he legs open once again.

3 days, 16 hours, 57 minutes and 12 seconds.

"I see a head!" Lilia exclaimed, feeling somewhat relieved.

The atmosphere shifted, the air grew cold, and the sent of damp mud and grass filled the air. Death. Rio.

"No—No it can not be— no—" Agatha pleaded, her hysteria having had reached it's final straws. "Please, please, please— you can't do this to me"

Rio came with a blue Lilie in hand, staring at Agatha with her eyes wide and empty, but behind that facade hides a vulnerability she was far too terrified of revealing yet.

"It must be" She said quietly, approaching them, worried for her lover.

Lilia's eyes did not leave Rio's. Her gaze hardened, a subtle threat in them, warning Rio not to take this from her either. She can not mourn anyone else. Not now. Not again.

"Please, my love" Agatha begged, whimpering once more as the pain returned from her contractions.

Rio's gaze turned to Lilia, allowing the woman to see past her facade, to see the restricted tears. "I can only offer time" She whispered , before disappearing into thin air.

It took them a few minutes, but baby Nicholas was born and placed into Agatha's arms whole she rests in Lilia's. The only sound in the room were his little suckles and Lilia's quiet lullaby as she sang it to soothe Agatha's exhausted body, mind and soul.

They'll be okay.

"The Fool and Death" She suddenly whispered the tarot cards, her eyes widened if only for a moment before softening again. Resting her head against Agatha's, she kissed her temple and held onto her. For now, she'll enjoy their limited time, she'll have more to mourn later.

❛°•☽☼☾•°❜

Tag list: @yourbasicqueerie n @thoroughly--confused, @walkethisway , @thegoddamnfeels, @jubshead

[mettywiththenotes]

Awww Powder helping Mylo get a date. It's sweet but sad that Vi's death was probably the catalyst to them becoming closer

I'm sure there was a lot of progression to them getting to where they are now, but Vi was usually the reason behind why Mylo bullied Powder and did seem like one of the reasons why they argued at all (through no fault of her own of course). They both had a need to impress her and/or prove their uses in the group, which meant Mylo as an older kid picked on Powder so he could feel more important and maybe even feel more worthy of going on missions if he put someone else down so he could "shine" more - by that I mean if he messed up or looked lame then he wouldn't look so bad highlighting Powder's mistakes instead, especially since she, in his words, "jinxed every job"

Anyway, remove Vi from the equation and it makes sense that they must have grieved so much. With no one to lead them into danger, no big sister left to impress, and this leading Vander to patch things up with Silco, all that was left to do was heal together

It's so sad that losing Vi is what took them to stop arguing, but I'm glad we got to see what their relationship could have been

[viaviavie]

Ok sorry I caught the brain worms and now I have to share them with you. I apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes and what not. I’m not a writer, I strongly prefer reading, and English is my second language. So feel free to ignore my ramblings.

So. Your “A painted white rose, still so red” fic. Wonderful thing. Love that Ace was dreaming about all of the horrors that would happen to him and his friends. And Yuu the one that is trapped in a time loop doomed to repeat every overbolt until they survive / make sure everyone else gets out unscathed.

That’s all well and good but… Ace and Yuu aren’t the only ones that have to face each overbolt.

Deuce always knew he wasn’t the smartest academically. Seven he’s barely passing his exams with the help of his house warden. But he isn’t dense enough to not notice his best friends weird behaviors.

He has caught Ace multiple times pulling the Prefect away from the group to talk to them in private. That in and of itself wouldn’t be so weird if they didn’t insist on him taking Grim for a minute while they talked. The others brushed this off but for some reason it stuck with Deuce.

This proved useful as during a lecture one of their classmates decided to mess around and almost blow up the classroom. Due to Ace and the Prefects quick thinking a majority of the damage was prevented.

Deuce always knew he wasn’t as smart as the Prefect or as annoyingly cunning as Ace. That didn’t keep him from being impressed by how prepared his friends seemed whenever disaster struck. It’s almost as if they knew it was going to happen.

He really starts to suspect something was up once the Prefect sent him an SOS in the middle of winter break. Once he met up with Ace to return to NRC to check up on them Ace was beside himself. Constantly checking his phone for any updates or always mumbling something about Snakes for some reason. Whenever Deuce tried to ask him what’s wrong or what Ace meant by that he’d always get waved off and or ignored.

When they finally, finally made it back to NRC and found the Prefect chilling with the Octavinelle Trio and the Scarabia dorm Deuce was confused. Ace on the other hand pushed past the crowd of people without another thought, on the way glaring at the Vice-House Warden of Scarabia.

(Why would Ace glare at someone he’s never even met before?) Deuce doesn’t need to wait long for an explanation to come, because it appears in the form of two familiar eals that explain that surprise, surprise another overbolt happened. (But how would Ace know that?)

Deuce knows what it’s like to have secrets you would rather not share with anyone. Really he understands. After all he also has things he only shares with his best friends if at all. But as he watches Ace and the Prefect reunite after all the stress of the past week he can’t help but feel hurt as he realizes that his best friends don’t trust him enough to keep their secret.

in reference to this post

ugh you just smashed my heart with an anvil— i love how it aches :)

(but i loved your rambling and your english was great! do drop by with those ramblings of your sometime, i adore it :DDDD )

Poor Deuce. A part of Ace thinks that Deuce is lucky that he isn't plagued with such nightmares, but never stops to consider that his best friend has his own inner turmoil. Ace, Deuce, the Prefect— they were always supposed to be a trio. And yet, this friendship has grown into a triangle, and Deuce sits at a point where his two friends had grown further and further away.

This weird sense of distant doesn't catch his eye in every loop. When Deuce feels out of place, however, it threatens to make him angry. There were certainly times when he has wanted to fight Ace for an answer, especially when he knows when Ace is lying straight to his face when the redhead was clearly bothered. Deuce never exactly confronts you, though. The Prefect has grown so tired of reacting and making mistakes to the point that you're just going through the motions sometimes.

To twist the knife even further, Ace and the Prefect never communicate about what is being foreseen in most loops until it's too late. Now, you have three different people tugging and pulling at one another to avoid the worst possible endings. Ace, who tries to prevent those Bad Ends from happening. The Prefect, who is still searching for more options and routes to take to survive the next overblot. And then there's Deuce, who cannot see ahead of the script and is forced to play along with the messes that Ace and the Prefect make. Ace would never confide in Deuce because he won't consider the idea that someone will believe in his crazy story. The Prefect can never confide in Deuce because it hurts to see him try to find a solution.

Nonetheless, no matter how hurt Deuce gets, his care for his best friends never change. Even when it ended with him hurt or dead in some loops, Deuce trusts both of you, even when the truth is something he would never hear.

That being said, I still think about the scene that I cut from the original. Contrary to what Ace thought, Deuce would have definitely trusted that Ace was telling the truth. That was why Deuce breaks out two blastcycles and was more than willing to help row a boat to get the Prefect as far away from the campus as possible during the events of book 7. You could only imagine how heartbroken Prefect was to reawaken back in that coffin, knowing that all the love that Deuce and Ace poured into you was now lost.

The Prefect has watched Ace and Deuce care for you for over a hundred loops now. There are time loops where the Prefect pushes aside those failures and puts up that smile as the process repeats itself again. There are also those time loops where the Prefect cries and cannot explain why when Ace and Deuce come to the rescue in the mines.

[marisoil]

𝑪𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒

summary: ꪆৎ (1920s au) a cop with a badge too heavy for his shoulders, a socialite too bright for anyone's sanity, they’re both absolutely doomed.

an: i was ovulating during the writing of whatever this is (you can tell). i feel like itʼs lowk giving booktok,, feedback on this would be much appreciated!! (◞‸ ◟) might do some more depending on how this one goes [blink]

trigger warnings: power imbalance, jealousy, emotional turmoil, risky relationships, tobacco use, manipulation (if you squint), emotional vulnerability

genre: mostly fluff

word count: 3.5k

bertholdt hoover was a man made to endure, a man made for carrying things, for bearing heaps of what others could not. the kind of fella who kept his head down and his hands busy, broad-backed and quiet, shoulders like stone slabs meant for bearing things no one else could handle. the city of paradis didn’t have much patience for soft men; in the gilded chaos of the roaring twenties, the streets were thick with jazz, smoke, and dirty politics. amidst flappers with rouged knees, dapper men tipping their straw boaters, he did what he was supposed to; put on the uniform, took the oath, and kept his nose clean. a lawman through and through, his uniform was neat enough to draw eyes but never hold them.

but you were no burden. you were conflagration in satin stockings, burning through every oath he’d ever sworn to uphold. a socialite draped in silk and scandal, with the kind of laugh that turned heads and left men (him, most of all) wondering if mortal ears were ever meant to hear music so sweet. your name was always on the lips of cigar-chewing barkeeps and parasol-clutching harpies, you were grotesquely lavish, a kitschy cathedral built to indulgence and made purely out of another soulʼs restraint. mornings found you sipping spiked tea on sun-drenched balconies, while afternoons slipped away in the folds of boutique dressing rooms, where clerks bent over backward to find the perfect shade of temptation for you.

in every sense of the word, you were excess. too much money, too much charm, too much of a good thing stretched to itʼs breaking point. a chandelier swaying just before the fall, a glass of merlot filled to overflowing, a secret too loud to be kept.

at some juncture in your life, between the empty noise of their promises and the heavy silence of the mornings after. you began to believe no, that no one could stomach entire spoonfuls of you. perhaps only the undemanding aspects of your existence, the ones they admired from a safe distance, the ones they praised like dilettantes, unsure and shallow in their admiration. men, in their infinite optimism that could easily be mistakes for arrogance—insisted they could handle you; they threw their hats into the ring with all the gall of gamblers who think the house will finally lose. and for a while, they played the part: offering love as if it were currency instead of an unexamined reflex. but inevitably, as night follows day, they faltered, overwhelmed by the intensity of you and your contradictions, your needs, your refusal to be contained. “you don’t have to call me every time something happens.” “you’re something else, doll, but maybe take it down a notch, huh? no need to shout the house down.”“you’re amazing, but i don’t know if i’m the right guy for all of this.”they treated you like a puzzle, or worse—a nuisance. so you began to wonder if the problem lay with you: a creature too large for the paltry cages they called love, too restless to settle for what they called enough.

of course, that was before you met bertholdt.

he first saw you on a call, a routine disturbance at one of those upscale speakeasies masquerading as tea rooms. the kind of place where old money rubbed elbows with new money, and no one dared whisper the wrong names. you’d been sitting at the bar, cigarette holder poised in one gloved hand, with your manicured fingers curled around a coupe of champagne. reiner had nudged him toward you with a knowing smirk, but it was you who made the first move, as was your routine, your lips curved into a smile that could ruin a man. you’d looked at him, not through him, like most people did. something about the way your gaze lingered made his heart stall beneath his ribcage, and from there he knew he was sunk.

he hadn’t meant to take you home. hadn’t meant for your dress to pool on the floor of his apartment or for his hands to learn the heat of your skin. but you unraveled him like you’d been born for it. the morning after, he’d stood at the window, his shirt rumpled and his resolve liquefying as you stretched across his bed like trouble itself had learned to walk upright in silk stockings, a wry smile tugging at your lips when he stammered, “this can’t happen again.”

but then, days later by means of despicable coincidence, there you were, turning his world sideways once more, pulling him into the shadowed alcoves of ballrooms, your gloved hands gripping the lapels of his coat as if you’ll die without him like you insist you would. “you shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, his breath warm against your neck, but his hands betray him, slipping around your waist and pressing you closer like he once had during the night he couldnʼt forget even if he tried. you tilt your head, lips grazing the shell of his ear as you purr, “neither should you, officer.”

you were nothing he was supposed to have. not in this life and especially not in this city. it should have been easy to walk away, to stay away, but you’ve always had a talent for taking what you want and bertholdt, poor fool that he is, didn’t even try to stop you.

you’ve made bertholdt hoover an accomplice to his own undoing. his uniform feels heavier when you’re near, like the badge on his chest knows he’s betraying everything it stands for just by breathing the same air as you. it seemed, and to this day still does seem absolutely proposterous at first—you and him. he was just a flatfoot, after all, pounding pavement while you lived a life of velvet and champagne. you were the kind of woman who could get a man fired, and bertholdt knew it. but you had a way of making him feel like you were meant for him, and worse like he was meant for you. in his eyes, you were a grace-given gift. through some unseen kindness from a life he could not recall, he had been repayed in the form of you, sweetly cocooned in a douceur adorned with ribbons and bows just for him. all for him, every inch of you. only ever for him.

you adored him, he was completely enamored with you, and you don’t apologize for any of it, for the mess you make of him.

you’re a thief, he thinks. you take up all the space in his mind and in his pockets, where the little pieces of you collect. loose pearls from your necklaces, ribbons from your wrists. you leave a trail behind you that only he bothers to follow, like you know he’ll pick it all up. he keeps your earrings in a little dish by his bed, ones you claim to forget every time you’re over. one of them is missing its backing, and you said it doesn’t matter because “it’s just an excuse to come back.” you said it so flippantly, throwing the words over your shoulder as you twirled out the door, but bertholdt thinks about it every night. wonders if it’s true, if you’ll keep leaving pieces of yourself behind like breadcrumbs. wonders if one day, you’ll leave too many, and there’ll be nothing left of you except the trail.

he keeps a picture of you, folded neatly into the soft belly of his jacket, he can feel it even now as he walks behind you, his fingers brushing absently over the hidden pocket. it’s old, creased from being folded and unfolded, touched and caressed when the real you is not around for him to hold. it’s not much, just a snapshot really, but it’s enough.

and you have one of him, too, though yours is much, much larger than his, a little dog-eared from being tucked into your clutch, covered in those maddening lipstick marks of your affection. when he’d asked you about it you said, “well, it’s my favorite picture.” you never hide it. in fact, you brandish it like a trophy, waving it at him in public just to watch him turn pink all the way down to his collarbones and he swears he can feel his ribs bending to make room for you.

your lipstick leaves ghosts everywhere: on crystal rims, on the necks of champagne bottles, on the stark white collar of his shirt you stole one lazy morning. he can still see it there, smudged and pink, a ridiculous, infuriating claim you left behind like a signature.

you like to touch him, your affection spilling over in unmeasured handfuls, and bertholdt takes it all, always unsure how to give it back without breaking it. your foot hooks over his under the table, dragging lazily until he jolts, his knee banging against the wood with a sharp, graceless sound. your hand slides beneath his glove, fingers cool against his warm ones, your thumb pressing into the creases of his palm as if you’re trying to read the lines of his life. a flick at his ear when he’s being too quiet, too bertholdt. sometimes you’ll poke his chest like you’re trying to find the exact location of his heart, grinning when he finally relents and catches your wrist, his thumb circling over the thin bones there. bertholdt isn’t used to being wanted so openly, so carelessly, but you make it feel natural, like this is just how the world works: you touch, and he catches fire.

over time, you make him comfortable enough to reciprocate those affections but you still have progress to make. his hands, so large they feel almost grotesque to him, were built for things like restraint, utility, the cold grip of a gun. but when he touches you it’s like he’s terrified the world might break. you laugh at him for it sometimes, draping yourself across his chest, your perfume threading itself into the fabric of his uniform, and say, “bertholdt, you hold me like i’m a cracked egg.”

it frustrates you to no end. you’ve always been shameless when it comes to bertholdt hoover. maybe it’s the way his shirt strains against his shoulders, seams groaning under the power of him. you notice everything: the dip in his throat when he swallows, the faint press of his veins just under his skin, the way his jaw clenches when he holds an anger thatʼs never directed at you. he smells like smoke, sharp and bitter, but when you kiss him, his mouth is sweet, tinged with a faint metallic tang. but he holds back. doesnʼt give you all of which you want, which is all of him. so you push harder—pulling at his tie, sliding your fingers into his hair, nipping at his neck just to hear the low, shuddering breath he can’t quite suppress. he’s maddening, the kind of man you want to press against until he forgets himself completely, and you’re determined to make him forget.

you love him so, so much. you love him for the way he never makes you feel small, for the way he lets you be yourself without apology. and you’ll be damned if you ever let him go. bertholdt hoover belongs to you now, and you’ll fight the whole damn city if it means keeping him.

he lets you win every argument. always. even when you’re wrong, which you rarely are. your words are sharp, but they always soften when it’s him. instead, you tease and provoke, and he lets himself be provoked because he loves the way you grin when you think you’ve gotten the better of him. and you have entirely. there’s no part of him you don’t own, no corner of his mind you haven’t occupied.

he’s jealous, though he’d never admit it outright. he thinks you’re too radiant to belong to anyone, and yet he burns at the sight of other men circling you like moths to a flame. their hands hover too close to your backside. he tells himself it’s not his place, that he has no claim on you, but then you glance at him from across the room, your eyes daring him to say something, to do something. you’re playing a dangerous game, and bertholdt’s never been one for risks. until you.

“you’re angry,” you say one night, he’s standing too close, his jaw tight, his hands shoved into his pockets to keep from dragging you away from the room full of prying eyes. “you let him touch you,” he murmurs, the words barely audible, and your smile stretches, wicked and knowing. “oh, bertholdt,” you coo, your fingers trailing along his sleeve. “are you jealous?”

“stop it,” he snaps, and it’s so unlike him that you pause, blinking up at him with something almost resembling surprise. then, quietly, he adds, “please.”

bertholdt knows this can’t last, knows you’re everything he’s not, bold where he’s reserved, reckless where he’s cautious. he knows it’s wrong, knows he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be sneaking into your estate under the cover of darkness, but he can’t stop. not when you greet him at the door in something entirely inappropriate, your smile bright and mischievous as you drag him inside. “i missed you,” you say, your voice soft, and it undoes him. every single time.

you kiss him like you’re trying to devour him, and he lets you. his hands are trembling as they slide over the silk of your dress, his breath ragged as you tug him closer. “what would your captain say,” you tease, your lips brushing the edge of his jaw, “if he knew where you were right now? what you’re doing?”

“donʼt,” he breathes, his hands tightening on your waist, but you don’t stop. you never do.

the city has no place for love stories like yours. it chews men like him to the bone and spits them out without ceremony, while women like you slip between its teeth, too clever to be caught. bertholdt knows this. he knows the weight of a badge, the weight of duty, the crushing inevitability of a city like paradis. but for you, he’d bear it all a hundred times over. all he knows is that for as long as you keep leaving pieces of yourself behind, he will pick them up and hold them close, even if it means losing himself entirely.

bertholdt hoover is a man made for carrying things, for bearing what others cannot. but for you, he has learned to let himself be carried, too.

you are the only thing that feels real. and bertholdt, for once in his life, is not strong enough to let go.

[crazylittlejester]

I’m curious to know what background you’ve created for Wild in your modern au (if you have)

I’ve seen him mentioned in a bunch of your other posts about the main three so I thought you might have some things to share with us about him ��

The au definitely centers around Wars, Twilight and Sky, but of the six others, Wild is someone who pops up most frequently because the main three all know him and also he is Wars’s closest and oldest friend (Time and Legend are the other two who pop up a lot, Time being Twi’s adoptive father/uncle and Legend being Sky’s coworker and also he lives directly below the main three). I talked a bit about Wild’s background here when I was saying how he met the others, but I can talk more about him :)

(my bad for spelling errors or weird grammar mistakes)

- Wild and Wars have known each other close to 15 years because they skated together. they’re about a year and a half-ish apart and separated by 2 school grades (though they definitely shouldn’t be because Wars is very young for the like. year of school he’s in (?)). They were close when they were little, like 5 and 7 to 12 and 13/14, but once they were competing (and competing against each OTHER) their coaches kinda pit em against each other and they grew apart though they were never MEAN to each other

- Wild was basically raised just to become a world champion. He grew up thinking that was the only way he could earn worth, and it really sucked because his entire childhood was hearing everyone talk about WARS and how WARS was going to become a top skater and someone who’d be remembered in history and Wild started to hate him a bit when they were like 14 and 15/16 because he just could not beat Wars

- Throughout grade school he became very close with Mipha because as a swimmer she too understood what it was like to have to wake up before school and go to practice and they bonded over that. They’re still very good friends even though she goes to college on the other side of hyrule

- The year Wars qualified to compete as an adult he did, and Wild was so excited that entire year because he felt like he actually had a chance and even the coaches and people online were saying he was likely to win gold, and he spent an entire year pushing himself to his limit and training so so so hard because he finally had his chance, and then at the comp he didn’t land a jump properly and he fell and just destroyed his hip. He tried to keep going and he just couldn’t and he wasn’t able to finish and ended up needing surgery. Wars was one of if not THE first one to visit him, and realizing that Wars never hated him at all and that he’d literally dropped everything to check on him meant an awful lot to Wild

- It was very hard for him to retire from skating because his self worth and how he viewed himself was so connected to how he preformed, but his doctors and physical therapists told him it would likely be impossible for him to ever get to a point where he could perform the same and they didn’t tell him to quit COMPLETELY but Wild viewed it as an all or nothing situation so he did

- Things were rough for him for a while, relearning how to move and manage his pain and then on top of that having to figure out what to do with his LIFE, but eventually he found fashion and photography. Wars was there for him through all of it (as much as he could be because he was very busy, but he texted Wild multiple times a day and they would call like 4 times a week), and Wild was there for Wars when HE retired too

- Some days he can get around alright, other days he uses a cane or crutch to help him walk and reduce pain. On good days he’ll sometimes go mess around at the rink with Wars, not doing anything too crazy

- Wild’s a fashion/art major in college now, he goes to the same school as the others, and he and Wars meet up at LEAST 2-3 times a week. Wars was his first real friend and the person in his life he’s the closest to, they understand each other and the shit they both went through in a way no one else can. Wild helps Wars film tiktoks of him skating, Wars models for anything Wild needs him to, if Wars needs professional photos for anything Wild will take them, if Wild ever needs someone to go shopping for fabrics with he’ll grab Wars. Twilight also gets dragged along sometimes but his eyes start to glaze over looking at the different fabrics and yarns because its all just shapes and colors to him almddkkd

- He loves sewing, knitting, crocheting, and quilting. All his close friends have been gifted blankets and a handmade little guy at some point. He also makes jewelry

- He LOVES to do fun things with his hair. He hasn’t cut it since he stopped skating (aside from trims to keep it healthy) so thats nearly four years of hair growth and its decently long

[shentheauthor]

It’s time for more HOLLOW KNIGHT INSANITY WOOHOOOOO

The Void Sea

Long ago, when the Dream and Nightmare Realms were not two, but one, a lone god ruled a stretch of land

War is a terrible thing, and this God of Dreams lost a great many bugs. They wept tears of black ichor, their regrets staining the world.

The regrets of a god are incredibly powerful, and they build up. The god’s tears fell into the basin below, slowly filling it with something cold and destructive.

The Void is an old god, but it’s one born from another. The Dream God learned of this latent power, and fearing their regrets, they tried to eliminate it

Guilt, though, is hard to get rid of.

The Void may have never awakened if the Dream God did not fear it so much. Gods are sustained by stories and belief, and by believing the Void was dangerous, the Dream God made it so.

When the Dream God dies and splits into two, the Radiance and the Nightmare Heart, only the Radiance inherits that deep, primal fear of her mistakes.

After all, dreams are meant to be good things. If she makes mistakes, she can’t be right.

The fear from a god turns the Void into something other than just regret. It becomes Emptiness. Mistakes. Death.

The Void isn’t one entity, but it does have a will. Being born from a god, and having all of their regrets stored inside of it, it longs to reach that god. It is supposed to be a part of them. It needs to climb.

The Radiance calls the Void “ancient enemy” because it has tried to consume her before. The two have done battle to the best of their ability, but they are evenly matched when the Void isn’t united.

Aimless regrets, follies, and despair have no way to win against one single, driven being

The Void doesn’t respond to the Radiance’s light the same way as the Pale King’s. PK’s calms it, while Radi’s stirs it. Her light is the same as the Dream God’s, after all.

When Ghost unifies the Void in the true end, it’s closer to giving the voices of their siblings a chance to shine. Each of their wills is used, and they all support each other, so they’re able to surpass the Radiance.

In godhome ending, the Void is unified in a way that absorbs the will of the others, becoming an amalgamation of all of their hopes, dreams, and despair.

The Lord of Shades is one being. It can peel off parts of itself, like different shades of different vessels, but for the most part, they’re one god

Gods have multiple domains. The Pale King is the Mind, Thought, Ingenuity, Progress, and the Future.

The Radiance is Dreams, Hope, the Past, Spirits, and the Afterlife

The Lord of Shades is Death, Emptiness, Sorrow, and Regret

[glaciescustodia]

One's folly?

Was she making target of Xbalanque in this conversation or one of the previous Pyro Archons who died too early than intended by their own mistakes?, their own miscalculations against an unrelenting threat like the Abyss?.

''The only danger that instilled itself because of you, was holding onto Natlan's future by yourself, believing that no one would, in all eventuality, catch on every little cards you chose to not disclose'', mayhaps, in this moment, he is but referring to himself, the one to see the bigger picture.

They all wanted the same thing, the same result; Natlan's prosperity.

''Dodging the truth for a fewer of us, would have done much more damages and uncertainties than coming to term that there was a chance for the opposite, for that fire to rise brighter instead of burning away''.

Since the beginning, humans have shown nothing but perseverance, regardless of obstacles, even if it meant laying down their lives.

He falls silent, emerald hued eyes fixating the outstretched arm, the gloved hand so close to a shoulder of his. Kinich's eyes narrow some, only to loosely grip at Mavuika's wrist.

Although, he did not grab with the intent to stop her, its more of an invitation since the Saurian Hunter is no longer on edge.

''If the great tragedies of other lands is anything to go by, we are ever burning''.

And he, himself specifically, he will raze away at any remnants of the Abyss, that may chose to crawl back out to the surface while she and the Traveler are aiming to take care of the source of it all, all that misery.

[candyunicornsateme]

personal fandom fact: long since deleted, but one of the first yt videos of Kenny fanart that really slapped my ass into love and angst over him was one with the song “Running Out of Pain” by 12 Stones. Feel like some things like that leave a lasting impression... I still listen to that song and always think of Kenny lol

[anghraine]

It's interesting (if often frustrating) to see the renewed Orc Discourse after the last few episodes of ROP. I've seen arguments that orcs have to be personifications of evil rather than people as such or else the ethics of our heroes' approach to them becomes much more fraught. Tolkien's work, as written, seems an odd choice to me for not wrangling with difficult questions, and of course, more diehard fans are going to immediately bring up Shagrat and Gorbag.

If you haven't read LOTR recently, Shagrat and Gorbag are two orcs who briefly have a conversation about how they're being screwed over by Sauron but have no other real options, about their opinions of mistakes that have been made, that they think Sauron himself has made one, but it's not safe to discuss because Sauron has spies in their own ranks. They reminisce about better times when they had more freedom and fantasize about a future when they can go elsewhere and set up a small-scale banditry operation rather than being involved in this huge-scale war. Eventually, however, they end up turning on each other.

Basically any time that someone brings up the "humanity" of this conversation, someone else will point out that they're still bad people. They're not at all guilty about what they're part of. They just resent the dangers to themselves, the pressure from above, failures of competence, the surveillance they're under, and their lack of realistic alternative options. The dream of another life mentioned in the conversation is still one of preying on innocent people, just on a much smaller and more immediate scale, etc.

I think this misses the reason it keeps getting brought up, though. The point is not that Shagrat and Gorbag are good people. The point is that they are people.

There's something very normal and recognizable about their resentment of their superiors, their fears of reprisal and betrayal that ultimately are realized, their dislike of this kind of industrial war machine that erases their individual work and contributions, the tinge of wistfulness in their hope of escape into a different kind of life. Their dialect is deliberately "common"—and there's a lot more to say about that and the fact that it's another commoner, Sam, who outwits them—but one of the main effects is to make them sound familiar and ordinary. And it's interesting that one of the points they specifically raise is that they're not going to get better treatment from "the good guys" so they can't defect, either.

This is self-interested, yes, but it's not the self-interest of some mystical being or spirit or whatnot, but of people.

Tolkien's later remarks tend to back this up. He said that female orcs do exist, but are rarely seen in the story because the characters only interact with the all-male warrior class of orcs. Whatever female orcs "do," it isn't going to war. Maybe they do a lot of the agricultural work that is apparently happening in distant parts of Mordor, maybe they are chiefly responsible for young orcs, maybe both and/or something else, we don't know. But we know they're out there and we know that they reproduce sexually and we know that they're not part of the orcish warrior class.

Regardless of all the problems with this, the idea that orcs have a gender-restricted warrior class at all and we're just not seeing any of their other classes because of where the story is set doesn't sound like automatons of evil. It sounds like an actual culture of people that we only see along the fringes.

And this whole matter of "but if they're people, we have to think about ethics, so they can't be people" is a weird circular argument that cannot account for what's in LOTR or for much of what Tolkien said afterwards. Yes, he struggled with The Problem of Orcs and how to reconcile it with his world building and his ethical system, but "maybe they're not people" is ultimately not a workable solution as far as LOTR goes and can't even account for much of the later evolution of his ideas, including explicit statements in his letters.

And in the end, the real response that comes to mind to that circular argument is "maybe you should think about ethics more."